


Oh, Won't You Let Me Burn (Won't You Let Us Conquer)

by AspiringToInspire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AspiringToInspire/pseuds/AspiringToInspire
Summary: "He gazes over at the curly haired golden boy whose seemingly charming smile drips blood. Zayn's stomach threshes at its bright sight.Harry's always been brighter than he was. He's always been too bright. He was back then, and he especially is now- so much so that he burns; so much so that Zayn's sure that he'll somehow end up drowning too."-or, the one where Zayn doesn't like Harry one bit, and he's sure that Harry feels exactly the same about him- or at least he used to; he really has no clue what's going on these days
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70





	1. This is Apollo We’re Talking About

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know or own any of the (ex) members of One Direction, no matter how much I wish I did, however, the plot is all MINE, so I'd love it if you'd be so kind and respect that :))

**_“Golden child,_ **   
**_Lion boy;_ **   
**_Tell me what it’s like to conquer._ **

**_Fearless child,_ **   
**_Broken boy;_ **   
**_Tell me what it’s like to burn.”_ **

_**– oh darling, even Rome fell** _

**start**

"What time should I be there, did you say?" Zayn asks, eyes quickly darting over to the clock blinking on his microwave as he holds his phone up to his cheek with his shoulder while he slices a tomato.

It's nearing lunch time now, and he's got an important call coming in in a bit, but he's still got just a few minutes to spare.

"I didn't," Louis answers on the line, and he sounds tired, though simultaneously blithe, Zayn thinks, "but any time after four is fine, I'd say. We should have everything sorted by then."

"Mkay," Zayn hums. "I actually have a meeting in a mo, but that shouldn't take too long," he hopes, glancing at the clock once more as he resolutely ignores the sound of his best mate loudly groaning out at the revelation. Zayn can just imagine him pressing his fingertips to his forehead in mock frustration. "But after _that_ , arsehole, I'm completely free for the day, so I'll be there as soon as I can, yeah?"

"Oh, _c'mon_ , lad," Louis is saying though, stretching his words out, "don't tell me that you're actually _working_ today. On a _Saturday_? Are you mad? And on the day of my house-warming party, no less. 's like I don't even know you anymore."

Zayn snorts, rolling his eyes at that and at the pure dramatics of it all, but a smile still fights to grace his lips. "Yes, yes, I'm working on a _Saturday_ , Lou, and on the day of your party too– it's reprehensible, I know," he humors him, "but my team and I need to finish this new game proposal by next week or we're screwed, so I don't really have much of a choice, mate."

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says, dismissively. "Keep the excuses coming. Can you at least tell me what it's going to be like then? The game, I mean. Because you already know, don't you?"

Zayn chuckles, beginning to dice an onion now. "I do, but that's confidential information, I'm afraid."

Louis huffs, as was expected. "God, you're no fun," he complains. "I thought having a video game designer as a best friend was going to have a lot more perks than this, but I stand corrected. You're still as properly useless to me as ever."

"I'm wounded," Zayn drawls, almost laughing, "truly. Do you want me to bring anything, you idiot?"

"No, just your pretty self would be great," is the reply that he gets. There's a pause. "You are actually coming this time though, right? 'Cause I know you're busy and all these days, and that's quite alright, but ever since you started working your new job, it feels like I never see you anymore."

Zayn smiles, moving on to chopping some garlic. "Maybe you just feel that way because we no longer live together, bro."

"Maybe," Louis allows thoughtfully, "but I only just moved out a week ago, and even before then, it felt like I didn't." He sighs. "I don't know, man. Just make sure you show up, alright? Or I'm coming to get you myself. Remember, I know where you live," he warns softly, so Zayn has to halt what he's doing.

He wipes his hand with a towel before grasping his mobile properly and beaming from ear to ear as he obnoxiously coos into it. "Aw, I miss you too, Lou," he half teases him, not being able to help himself. He can practically see Louis scrunching his face up in fake disgust at his words.

"I... did not say that," he grumbles stubbornly, and Zayn laughs, because he didn't have to, really, "but I suppose that I'm glad to hear that, Malik," is his way of confirming it. "I should let you go though. You have that meeting or whatever, and Harold just walked in, and he's bugging me about drinks or summat."

Zayn nods understandingly, even though Louis can't see him, and he's about to bid his best mate goodbye when all of his words eventually catch up to him, so he pauses, frowns a bit. "Wait, Harold? Who's Harold?"

Zayn doesn't know a Harold, and he doesn't think that Louis does either. Does he? Do they?He tries to rack his brain to remember.

He can hear a voice speaking in the background of the call, and though he isn't entirely able to make out what it is that they're saying, Zayn guesses that they've just asked Louis who he's talking to since Lou replies with a whispered, " _Zayn_ ," before focusing back on him.

"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you. Harold's..." Louis trails off suddenly, as if he's just lost his train of thought. He harshly clears his throat after a second. "Harold is, um... Harold is my new neighbor... yeah," He eventually finishes gawkily as if he isn't even sure himself. "Harold is my new neighbor, Zayn."

There's a beat, then, a small sigh, although it doesn't sound as if it's made entirely out of irritation, and, "Sorry, _correction_ ," Louis adds, muttering, and Zayn pictures his ex roommate rolling his eyes lightheartedly as he speaks, "Harold's a right spoiled brat who wants me to tell you that he's my new _mate_ who just happens to live in the flat next door."

And _oh_ , Zayn thinks. Of course. What was he thinking? Louis's off living somewhere else now, without him, in a completely new neighborhood, with his girlfriend, so obviously he's going to make friends with a couple persons or so who Zayn doesn't know.

He guesses he just didn't think that it'd happen so quickly is all, but that's probably just because he's him. Louis's always been so boisterous and outgoing, while he's– well, he's a bit more reserved sometimes.

"Oh, that's cool, bro," he states. "So I'm guessing that he'll be at yours later too?"

"Yeah," Louis responds, "you can meet him then. You'll love him, Zayn. Seriously, I promise you. He's great."

"I'm sure he is, mate," Zayn smiles. "I'll see you later then. Bye, love you."

"Love you too," Louis tells him. "See you in a bit," and Zayn finishes making his lunch and preparing for his meeting as soon as they hang up.

-

He arrives at Louis and Lana's new flat around a quarter to five. He's exhausted and desperately craving a nap, but he's also very proud of himself for the work that he's done today, and he's excited that he's finally able to chill with his friends.

He's missed them. Louis wasn't wrong when he said that Zayn is always busy these days, but that really is only because he's trying extremely hard to go above and beyond for this new job, for his dream job.

His best mate opens the door for him, greets him with a crushing hug and ushers Zayn into his new home, immediately informing him that he absolutely has to give him the grand tour or he'll have to kick Zayn out, and so he does.

The place is nice, Zayn has to admit, and it's looking especially better since last he was here, when no furniture inhabited the open space of the living room and kitchen and no photographs adorned the plain grey walls encompassing them and no little touches of Louis and Lana were sprinkled across the room.

"I like it," he says, turning to look at Lou after he's shown him around.

"Yeah?" His blue eyes are wide and expectant, but that might just be a result of the alcohol that he's surely already started drinking.

"Yeah," Zayn smiles. "'s sick, mate. 'm really happy for you." He pats him on the back. "You're, like, all proper grown up and shit now."

Louis laughs at that before his face goes completely serious. "Please, don't remind me. C'mon," he places his hand on Zayn's back and steers him towards the back door, "everyone's outside."

They make their way down a hallway and through the living room and exit the flat, and Zayn is soon once again back out in the cool air, but that's not what has him suddenly freezing.

No, that's– that's not even close, because there is something else entirely currently present that has chills running up his arm. He's _livid_.

Because right there, unmistakably, in his best mate's backyard, sitting in a lounge chair laughing along with Niall and Liam, laughing along with _his_ friends, with a beer in his hand, looking so thoroughly sodding at home, is Harry Fucking Styles.

And Zayn _hates_ that guy. Unconditionally _loathes_ him. And he can't, for the love of him, understand why the _hell_ he's here right now.

So he whirls on Louis, eyes seeing red, ready to demand just that, when he has to halt, as he catches his best mate trying to stifle fucking snickers under his hand, and _no_ , Zayn thinks. He didn't. He _wouldn't_.

But Zayn knows that he's put way too much faith in Louis, when he glimpses the semi-bashful look that he has the decency to wear on his face when Zayn's ireful eyes meet his.

"Louis?" He starts dangerously slowly.

"Yes, Zayn?" His bordering on unruffled tone only serves to agitate him more.

"What is _he_ doing here?" He lets himself ask calmly.

"Who?" The response is put forward too innocently. Zayn could choke him.

" _Who_? What do you mean _who_?" He nearly explodes. He has to haul Louis back inside before they can draw too much attention to themselves.

"You know very well _who_ I'm talking about! _Harry Styles_? Your new neighbor- sorry, _correction_ ," he mocks derisively, "your new _mate who just happens to live in the flat next door_ is Harry Fucking Styles?"

Louis appears as if he's trying not to laugh, the absolute little shit. "Oh, have you met him then?"

"I'm going to kill you," Zayn exhales, all but shaking. "You told me that his name was _Harold_."

"And it is," Louis shrugs passively.

"No, it _isn't_ ," Zayn seethes. "It's Harry, _just_ Harry, and you know that. You've known that for years! Why didn't you tell me that you meant _him_?" The words seep bitterly from his tongue.

He's given an unimpressed stare. "If I did, would you have come today?"

"Yes," he answers instantly. The stare doesn't let up though, so he sighs, averting his eyes, and more quietly, mumbles, "Alright, I probably would have thought long and hard about it first, but I'd have still shown up... Probably."

Louis whacks his nose, and Zayn swats at his hand in annoyance. "Oh, _c'mon_ , Lou. What do you want me to say? This is _Apollo_ we're talking about, remember?" He can't help but whine, looking petulant.

He peers outside again and gazes over at the curly haired golden boy whose seemingly charming smile drips blood. Zayn's stomach threshes at its bright sight.

"Oi, how could I forget?" Louis loudly scoffs, forcing him to look back at him. He rolls his eyes at Zayn. "You only called him that about _eight_ times every day for _three years_."

Zayn shakes his head at him out of frustration. "Louis, you're not listening to me, man." He scrubs his hands down his face, inhaling deeply. "This is Harry Fucking Styles. _Harry Fucking Styles_ ," he attempts to desperately plead with him. "You know how I feel about that miserable twat."

"Oh, but I don't think that _I_ do though," a stupidly deep voice drawls from behind them then, slow as molasses, amused, and Zayn hates that he immediately still recognizes it. _Shit_. "Care to enlighten me, Zayn?"

No, Zayn doesn't think that he does, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	2. Apollo’s Still a Right Twit

* * *

"Louis, you're not listening to me, man." Zayn scrubs his hands down his face, inhaling deeply. "This is Harry Fucking Styles. _Harry Fucking Styles_ ," he attempts to desperately plead with him. "You _know_ how I feel about that miserable twat."

Hell, _anyone_ who's known Zayn at least as long as he has should know how he feels about that miserable twat. He's not exactly subtle.

"Oh, but I don't think that _I_ do though," a stupidly deep voice drawls from behind them then, slow as molasses, amused, and Zayn hates that he immediately still recognizes it.

It belongs to said miserable twat, so his body goes taut at the sound, and his blood instantly runs cold. _Shit_.

"Care to enlighten me, Zayn?"

No, Zayn doesn't think that he does, actually, he quips sullenly to himself as he rolls his eyes before schooling his face into an inscrutable expression and turning.

And there he is, stood only a few feet away from him at the open back door, his golden skin bathed in moonlight and the stars. Zayn's fingers itch and tingle at his side at the mere sight of him.

"Styles," he greets blandly in the face of his annoyingly blinding dimpled smile.

"Hello, Zayn," he beams back, looking so infuriatingly smug that Zayn could punch him.

Or, no, that's– that's a bit extreme probably. He should fix that.

Harry Fucking Styles is looking so infuriatingly smug that Zayn could _tell him how dumb he thinks some of his tattoos are_.

Yeah, he's sure that would do it.

"I'm happy to see that you made it," Harry continues like they're old friends or something as his oddly-chuffed-for-someone-who-was-just-insulted expression persists. "Louis'd said that you might not be able to because you're always busy with work nowadays," he reveals, causing Zayn to frown and immediately glance his ex roommate's way.

Louis slightly grimaces when he does, but Harry only runs a large hand through his hair as if he hasn't noticed any of it. It's a lot shorter now than it was when Zayn first knew him, he absently notes in the back of his mind.

"Either way, it's very lovely to see you again." _I wish I could say the same._ "It's been years, yeah? How have you been?" Harry simpers, and Zayn can't take much more of it.

He has to narrow his eyes at him. He can't _not_ , so he narrows them at that stupidly endearing artful smile, narrows them at that ridiculously disingenuous polite question, narrows them at _Harry Fucking Styles_ , fully preparing to snort caustically out loud and rag him, _as if you even care, Apollo_ , when the elbow to his ribs prevents him from doing so.

Louis is looking over at him now, cocking his head to the side, and his eyes are expressive. Zayn gazes at him in question.

"Look, before you say anything," his best mate attempts to conspiratorially whisper, "I know how you feel about him, but think about this, Zed. This bloke's my _neighbor_ now," he says. "I have to live right next to him, so I'd really prefer it if I didn't have to avoid him like fucking avocados every time I walk out my door just because you two can't get on, y'know what I mean?" and Zayn guesses that's a fair point.

Or, it would be, really, if they were dealing with literally anyone else. But they're not, unfortunately. They're dealing with Harry Fucking Styles who's grinning like a bloody idiot right now as he reminds them, "Louis, I can hear you, mate," as if he doesn't know that it's rude to eavesdrop.

Zayn's tempted to pinch one of his four nipples and tell him to bugger off.

"Never said that you couldn't, lad." Louis grins easily back at him though, patting them both on the back. "Now, if you two'll excuse me. This has been quite fun– loved every awkward second of it, but I have guests to entertain. Please, feel free to help yourselves to whatever you like... mostly because Lana told me to say that," he shrugs noncommittally. "But still, knock yourselves out."

"Oh, and speaking of– knocking out, that is, a lot of this stuff's new and expensive," he gestures to the living room around them, "so I'd really rather you didn't, but if you absolutely _must_ have a go at each other, do me a favour and take it outside, yeah? That way you can't break anything." He levels them a warning look before breaking into a smile. "Anyway, have fun. Talk amongst yourselves and catch up, why don't you?"

Zayn would literally rather be chased down by a giant power ranger, but Louis's already out the door before he can object, so he simply sighs, feeling as if he's no other choice but to face Harry again who just smiles too innocently at him as soon as he does. Zayn despises it.

"What are you doing here, Styles?" The words are out of his mouth and into the open air before he has the chance to shove them back down his throat.

He almost winces. He'd definitely feel shit for saying them out loud if he were talking to someone else.

But Harry only twinkles at him effortlessly, not appearing the least bit offended as he holds an empty glass up for him to see. "Oh, I just came to get Lana a refill," he informs him. "Would you like a drink too, Zayn? I can make one for you."

Zayn feels his eye twitch a bit at his words. That was always an aggravating habit of Harry's, he remembers. Smoothly rolling Zayn's name off his tongue as much as he could as if he had the right to, as if he knew exactly how much it got on his tits. He probably did.

So Zayn crosses his arms over his chest, trying not to let how much it still affects him manifest on his face. He allows a bored expression to permeate his features instead.

"You and I both know that's not what I meant. Why are you at my best mate's housewarming party?" He specifies, and the corner of Harry's mouth tugs up into a smirk.

"I see that you're still as warm and pleasant as ever."

Zayn squints, but he's quick with his retort. "Bit hard not to be when you're in my presence, innit?" He smirks back, making Harry chuckle.

"You know, I think I'm going to take that as a compliment," he decides, jutting his bottom lip out reflectively.

Zayn rolls his eyes, looking away from him. "You always did, didn't you," he mutters lowly, shaking his head.

It's strange, he thinks. Being around him again, especially after it's been so long, but that's to be expected, isn't it? What isn't, really, is how easy he finds it to be. Sure, he still hates Apollo's guts with every breath in his body, but it's like they were never apart.

His stomach squirms at the thought. He clears his throat, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck as he mentally shoos it away. "So, are you just not going to answer my question then?" He asks abruptly, forcing his expression to go steely once more.

Harry smiles in the face of it. "Come on, Zayn," he drawls. "I think it's only fair. You haven't answered mine either, have you?"

"Yours? What question would that be?" He tilts his head. "If I'd like for you to make me a drink? 'Cause 'm afraid that I'm gonna have to say no to that one, Styles. I fancy not getting poisoned today, I think."

Harry scoffs so comically at him that he almost bursts into laughter. "I resent that," he cries, hands flying to his hips. "I make a mean tequila on the rocks, I'll have you know."

One of Zayn's eyebrows arch on its own accord. "All you have to do is add ice, mate. How could anyone possibly mess that up?" He pauses, smirking again. "Never mind. I forgot who I was speaking to."

" _Wow_ ," Harry holds his heart, stretching the word out. "A twofer?" He pouts. "I guess I walked right into that one," he allows before shaking his head and waving one of his ring-adorned hands around. "Anyway, my debatable drink making skills aside, I was actually asking you how you've been, Zayn. We haven't seen each other in an age, you know."

"Pity it was just the one," Zayn grumbles to himself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he quickly puts forward. "You wanna know how I've been?" He exhales, chuckling slightly, though it's short on humor. "'s about time you come off it, Styles, don't you think?"

His forehead crinkles. He tugs on a curl. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ ," Zayn enunciates, "do you even really care?"

"Course I do," Harry shrugs, easy as anything, and Zayn can't find it in himself to believe that.

Still, he purses his lips and tells him, "Well, I'm– 'm fine. Like, life's good and all that."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," he nods firmly, teeth gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip, because this is weird as fuck, making small talk with him like this. Would he make things worse if he walked out right now?

... Probably, so he reluctantly refrains from doing so... for now.

"Louis told me about your video game gig." His best friend _has_ always had a big mouth. "I'm happy for you," Harry beams, and Zayn falters, eyebrows knitting together.

He's not exactly sure what to say to that. "You– you are?"

"I really am," Harry nods. "'s great to hear."

"I suppose," Zayn replies dubiously, because now it's even weirder. He shakes his head. "So, um, do you reckon that it's finally my turn then?" Harry stares at him meaningfully. "To ask my question, I mean."

He wets his lips, a hint of a smile painted across them. "Sure, Zayn, if it means that much to you."

"Okay," he begins, because it does, "why are you here, Styles? I mean, you knew that I'd be here tonight too, and you know that the two of us've never really..." he trails off.

"Been the best of friends?" Harry finishes, and he snorts because _understatement_. "Do you really wanna know, Zayn?"

"'s why I asked, mate."

Because even if Harry hadn't known that he'd show up for sure, he'd at least been aware of the possibility that he might, and if that were the case back when they first knew each other, well, Harry wouldn't have even bothered showing up, because he'd always said that Zayn was ' _a pretentious arse who's always horrible to me for no reason, and he treats me like a child!_ ' and the both of them couldn't ever be in one place too closely together for too long without getting into some sort of pointless row or two, so why was he here tonight?

"Well, I think that the obvious answer is that I was invited, of course. Or did you already forget? I'm sure Louis told you that earlier when you spoke on the phone."

"Right," Zayn nods shortly, setting his jaw. He's not exactly sure what he wanted to hear, but he should have known better than to expect an actual, direct answer from him. Of course Apollo wasn't taking him seriously. He never did.

So he takes a labored breath but chooses not to respond, instead spinning on his heel and striding out Louis' back door before Harry Fucking Styles has the chance to irritate (and disappoint but not surprise) him any further.

"Hey, Zayn," Liam excitedly greets when he sees him stalking towards them. "Ooh, angry Zayn?" He changes his tone, pursing his lips nervously when he catches the look that he's wearing.

Louis gives him a flat one when he sees him, sighing. "I'm guessing that it didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped."

Zayn scoffs. "Hardly. Apollo's still a right twit. What did you expect?"

And _maybe_ he's being a tad dramatic right now, and _maybe_ the conversation that they just had _was_ one of their better ones, but he's allowed to be at least a bit upset, he thinks. These are _his_ mates, and all Harry Fucking Styles has to do is show up one day out of nowhere and suddenly it's like he's always been here. He did it once, and he's doing it again, and it makes Zayn feel sick.

"Apollo?" Niall asks, taking a swig of his beer. "'ho's that?"

"Harry," Lana supplies easily, seemingly popping out of nowhere behind him.

Zayn only jumps slightly, but people have got to stop doing that. He turns to face her, furrowing his brow as he does.

Louis' girlfriend only shrugs innocently at him. "What? Louis tells me everything, and even Haz has dropped a word or two about your _history_."

She wiggles her eyebrows at him, and he wrinkles his nose, but before he can say anything snappy, Liam is speaking up. "Oh, you two know each other?"

" _Know_ is a kind of a strong word, I reckon," Zayn mutters, running a hand down his face.

"Oh, _please_ ," Louis interjects with a groan, looking and sounding so horribly done with everything that he just might combust. "That's bollocks, and you know it. You both worked together for three years, had loads of the same classes, a lot of the same mates, and you couldn't go a day without bitching about him back then. You know each other."

Zayn scowls at the unnecessary reminder. "Well, maybe _knew_ then, and it was only ever in a professional sense, if even that." Mostly.

"So why do you hate him so much?" Niall wonders, moving to stand beside him. He nudges him playfully. "Did he steal your bird or summat?"

"Nah." Zayn shakes his head. He thinks that maybe he'd prefer it if that _was_ the reason though, at least it'd be easier to detest him then.

"What then?" Liam asks. "He seems like a nice guy. I don't get it."

" _Seems_ being the operative word there, mate," Zayn mumbles, rolling his eyes, "and anyway, I don't _hate_ him." Or at least he'd never admit that out loud. "We've just– we've never gotten on well. He's all like– and I'm– and we're just–" He huffs in frustration, not being able to fully articulate what it is that he wants to say. _Styles must be rubbing off on me_. "We're just different, alright?"

"You know, it's quite funny," Lana muses. "Harry said almost the exact same thing. At least you can both agree on that."

Zayn pulls on his ear. "Yeah, well, none of that even matters, 'cause the point is," he glares in Louis' direction, "you," he pokes his chest, "didn't warn me that he'd be here or that you live next door to him now."

Louis pushes his hand away. "Did you even give him a chance? Did it maybe occur to you that perhaps you've both changed and can be proper mates this time around?"

"Yeah, fat chance," Zayn snorts. "That'll never happen."

Louis pinches his nipple. "Did you even talk to him?"

"Ow, what the fuck," Zayn mithers, rubbing the spot that he just assaulted.

"Yes," he grumbles in response to his question at the same time that Harry hums a "nope," as he reaches across Zayn's chest to hand Lana her drink.

He eyes Harry's arm sternly when it passes in front of him, because there he goes again fucking eavesdropping, before he sees the other one coming up, the hand attached to it holding a bottle. He peers up at Harry befuddled.

"I got this for you," he shrugs with another easy smile. "Even though you abandoned me, Zayn," he teases... playfully? "I hope it's alright. I remembered that you always liked this beer back in uni. I mean, I– I have no idea if you still do, but I can– I can get you another one if you don't... Do you?"

Zayn frowns. He almost forgot how much of a try-hard Harry is, has always been.

"And don't worry, it's not opened, so there's no way that I could've poisoned it," Harry chuckles, sensing his hesitation. "Much."

Zayn blinks then, swaying his head a bit as he tentatively takes the drink from him, their fingers brushing briefly as he does. "No, that's–" He clears his throat. "Thanks," he says quietly but genuinely.

"Ta, Haz," Lana thanks him too before leaving the group along with Louis to go mingle with their other guests.

"Play nice," Louis warns him as he's swept away, leaving just the four of them.

Zayn rolls his eyes at that. _This is going to be a long night_ , he thinks. He reaches into his pocket for the bottle opener on his keys, and it's only after he's popped it open that he realizes how silent it is. (Well, as silent as it can be with the sound of chatter and music swirling around them.)

His friends are standing around not uttering a word or even looking up from their drinks, and he's wondering why exactly when he remembers who's standing next to him and remembers their _history_ , as Lana called it, so then he gets it. He's made things stressy. _Great_.

"So," Liam starts awkwardly, tapping the side of his leg, eyes finally flitting between Zayn and Harry, because he's never been good with uncomfortable social situations. "How's everybody doing?"

Zayn would laugh if he wasn't too busy thinking up a way to get out of here without being too obvious about it.

"Fantastic!" Niall jumps in enthusiastically to save him, bless his heart. "But we all could be doing even _better_ if we had some _shots_!" and Zayn really can't argue with that.

Shots _would_ make this night more bearable, so he nods just as eagerly at him, downing his beer in one go before pulling Niall into his side.

"Yes, you're brilliant, Ni." He kisses his temple. "Let's do that. Let's do that now." He'd do anything to forget that _everyone knows who_ is standing beside him at the moment.

Niall laughs and throws an arm around him too, leading them back inside, leaving Liam and Harry to follow, and Zayn grins, because he's going to have fun, and not even Apollo's pestilential presence is going to prevent him from doing so.

-

Turns out that's easier said than done, he realizes as the night goes on. The shots help, _definitely_ , but Louis– Louis does the opposite.

When he comes round, he takes every opportunity he can to remind Zayn that Harry's there, takes every opportunity he can to try to get him to talk to him.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say that his best friend really did care and wanted them to make amends or some shit, but he does, and he knows that Louis's probably just enjoying watching him squirm.

It's very awkward to say the least. Has been from the minute they stepped into Louis and Lana's kitchen for shots–

"So what're we havin', lads?" Niall had asked them exuberantly, gesturing to the massive selection that they could choose from. "Pick your poison."

And Zayn had grinned at him. "Why choose, bro? I say we should just have one of each," he joshed, wiggling his eyebrows. "Cease the night and all that."

But Harry had scoffed as if Zayn was even talking to him. "Are you mad?" He demanded. "Or are you just trying to get alcohol poisoning?"

Zayn rolled his eyes so far back at him, he was sure that they'd get stuck in the back of his head. "Oh, piss off. It was a joke, Styles," he grumbled.

"Jokes are supposed to be funny, Malik," Harry mocked back, and Zayn wanted to pull his hair.

"Now, how would you possibly know that?"

– to the moment that they're at now. Zayn's not sure where Apollo's being insufferable at the mo, but he's currently on the street outside Louis' yard having a fag as he tries to get himself to relax.

There isn't anything really wrong with him, is the thing. Sure, Harry's irritating and narcissistic and a try-hard, but Liam was right when he'd said that he was a nice enough guy, and apart from the few instances where they've been meaninglessly bickering back and forth like bitches, he's been perfectly amiable all night like he always is, and he's shining like the golden boy that he's always been, and everyone is falling in love with him like they always do. Even blind, Zayn'd be able to tell.

Apollo's a god, and he's gold, and the sun shines inside of him, and Zayn hates it, if only to keep his light from affecting him as well.

He sighs, stubbing out his cigarette and turning to go back in. His head sways, and he's stumbling a bit when Louis intercepts him at the gate, wearing a too cheerful smile on his face. "Zayn," he exclaims, squeezing his shoulder. "There you are, mate."

Zayn only nods, pursing his lips. _Here I am._ He frowns. He's not sure if he said it out loud.

"Be a dear, and please get me another beer, will you," he requests, handing him an empty bottle. "I'm in the middle of a heated debate with Payno, and I can't possibly leave now."

Zayn looks around them. Liam's on the other side of the lawn, talking animatedly to everyone around him. "But haven't you already–"

"Great, thanks." Louis slaps his back affectionately, and Zayn guesses that he's getting him a beer then.

When he gets inside to the kitchen, he finally understands why. Harry's stood there behind the counter that's decorated with countless bottles of alcohol, soda, and juice.

_Of course._

His head is bent as he looks around the crowded island for whatever it is that he needs and mumbles off to himself like a crazy person.

Zayn halts in the entrance, wondering if he should just slink away now and save himself, when Harry glances up, catching him, before he has the chance to.

"Zayn," he greets, smiling slightly.

This is the first time that they've been alone since the beginning of the night, Zayn realizes.

"Styles," he nods stiffly again. He's going to murder Louis.

"Hey, you finally come to take me up on that drink?"

Zayn snorts. "No, I think I'm still gonna pass." He walks over to sit on a barstool as Harry mutters something about his loss. "What are you doing anyway?" He wonders out loud, the alcohol in his system making him more chatty than he would have been without it.

Harry gives him a look. "I'm making a cosmo, Zayn. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Ah," Zayn hums, and Apollo sighs exaggeratedly, setting the bottle of triple sec in his hands down.

"What? What is it?" He asks, his lips twitching at the corners.

"What?" Zayn asks, eyebrows pulling together. He pouts. He doesn't think that he said anything.

"You said ' _ah_ ,' Zayn," Harry attempts a horrible imitation of his voice, "and I know you well enough to know what that means. Besides, I can feel your judgmental gaze burning a gaping hole through my head from all the way over here."

Zayn scoffs but averts his eyes nonetheless as he stands and walks behind the counter to grab two beers from the freezer. "You're imagining things, Styles. 'm not even looking at you," he tells him, going to run a hand through his hair. He stops when he realizes that they're both occupied. _Dammit_.

"Bet I'd see straight through if I was though," he adds coolly as an afterthought, smirking at Harry, who lowly whistles at that, glancing at him.

"Ouch," he tugs his bottom lip with two long fingers. "I've lost count of how much of those we're at now. But I think–" he holds one up, "I _think_ , one more and you get something free."

"A lifetime supply of no jokes from you sounds good." Zayn tries to fight the stupid smile threatening to spill on his lips. Dumb alcohol. Making him all smiley.

"No, no. You don't get to choose," Harry scolds him lightheartedly, bumping his hip against Zayn's. "But you'd miss them, admit it."

Zayn only snorts again, because he wouldn't, why would he, but he'll let Harry have his dreams. He opens his beer and takes a swig of it, and there's a beat of silence then, and it freaks him out, but only because it's not entirely uncomfortable.

"You know, I've missed this," Harry breaks it first. Zayn raises a single eyebrow. "Our banter," he answers his silent question. _If that's what you want to call it._ "'s nice. Tonight's been fun, and my life's really been lacking in insults lately, so go on then. Have at it. I know you're just itching to tell me what I'm doing wrong right now."

Zayn smirks, licking his lips. "With the cosmo or with your fashion choices?" and Harry levels him a glare, but it's hardly intimidating. It almost makes him laugh, actually.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Nothing really, but Zayn just enjoys taking the piss out of him. "I think– I _think_ ," he mocks, "I'll let you figure that one out on your own." He winks. "As for this," he says, taking the carton that he's holding from him, "your vodka to juice ratio is rubbish. You're gonna make it taste shit."

Harry smiles, raising an eyebrow at him condescendingly as he watches him pour. "Oh, my apologies. I didn't realize that you were a mixologist now."

Zayn smiles too, if only a bit, because chances are this– _this_ is the best conversation that they've ever had. He's probably just drunk though. "Well, you certainly aren't, that's clear."

"It is, innit?" Harry laughs effusively, and he wants to hear it again and again. "You should help me out more often then."

"I should..." Zayn trails off, gazing up into Harry's viridescent eyes shining in front of him. They're so bright. He's so bright. It scares him. "I should get outside and get this to Lou," he finishes gawkily, lifting the unopened beer off the counter along with his, and then he bolts.

-

He wakes to a pounding head the following morning.

Or at least, he thinks that it's the following morning. Zayn's too tired to open his eyes to check, and it feels like a drum is aggressively beating on his brain.

He groans, rolling over slightly to get more comfortable, and whining even more when the motion causes him to feel as if he's stuck on the spinning throne from the _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ theme song.

He's suddenly cold now too, his movement apparently separating him from the source of warmth that he'd just felt wrapped around him.

Needless to say, it's a terrible start to his day.

"This fucking blows," he moans miserably, finally peeling his eyes open after he's felt the cold become too much but has also realized that his head is spinning way too out of control for him to even try to move again.

"Tell me about it," a rough, sleep riddled voice, slow as molasses, tired, murmurs to his right, and Zayn hates (more than anything now) that he immediately still recognizes it. His body goes taut at the sound. His blood runs cold. "Why'd you move?"

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, what did you think?


	3. Of Course Apollo is Up Here

Zayn wakes to a pounding head in the morning.

Or at least, he thinks that it's the following morning. He's too tired to open his eyes to check, and it feels like a drum is aggressively beating on his brain.

He groans, rolling over slightly to get more comfortable, and whining even more when the motion causes him to feel as if he's stuck on the spinning throne from the _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ theme song.

He's suddenly cold now too, his movement apparently separating him from the source of warmth that he'd just felt wrapped around him.

Needless to say, it's a terrible start to his day.

"This fucking blows," he moans miserably, finally peeling his eyes open after he's felt the cold become too much but has also realized that his head is spinning way too out of control for him to even try to move again.

"Tell me about it," a rough, sleep riddled voice, slow as molasses, tired, murmurs to his right, and Zayn hates (more than anything now) that he immediately still recognizes it. His body goes taut at the sound. His blood runs cold. "Why'd you move?"

 _Shit_.

His body emits a strangling, choking sound as soon as he hears him. He feels bile race up his throat, and he has to slam his eyes closed and fling a hand up to his mouth to keep from being sick in that moment.

Please tell him that he's still asleep right now.

He's counting down from ten, hoping against hope that he is, when a soft chuckle interrupts him, slicing into his thoughts.

"You know, closing your eyes that tight doesn't make you disappear, Zayn."

He sighs heavily, finally fluttering his eyes open, albeit quite reluctantly. "No, but I was hoping that it might make you," _because this is a bloody nightmare._

"Heyyy," Harry Fucking Styles practically whines from mere inches away from him. "You don't get to be mean to me in my own home," he reprimands, and Zayn feels poorly all over again. He's sure that he's as green as Harry's irises right now.

"Y-Your home?" He immediately sits up as he demands it, ignoring the throbbing ache in his head. "What? Why the fuck am I in _your_ home?"

Harry gets up a bit, moving to rest his weight on his elbows. He frowns over at him. "Well, where did you think we were?"

"Hell, maybe," he murmurs, glancing around. They've got to be, right? In what other world would he wake up _cuddling_ Harry Fucking Styles?

The man next to him lightly kicks him for that and glares, bringing Zayn's attention away from his purple walls, particularly the one that's embellished with a shedload of Polaroids.

"That's a bit rude, don't you think? At least you're not out pissed on the street, Zayn."

His eyebrows furrow at those words. He thinks about that, and he really isn't, is he?

Zayn feels the guilt settle in. He means, he doesn't remember a fuck of what happened after he left Harry in the kitchen last night, but if he had to guess, he definitely got rat-arsed as soon as he did.

But he'd felt that he had to, you know? He'd had to forget the way that Apollo looked standing under the bright lights in Louis' kitchen, the ones that still didn't manage to be quite as bright as he was; he'd had to forget the way that his eyes glittered green with mischief and something else that Zayn couldn't even begin to put his finger on; he'd had to forget the way that Harry chatted at him in the way that he always did, batting away his barbs and calmly throwing in a few of his own when he felt like it, grinning all smugly and unaffected like Zayn's words hardly struck him at all.

He'd had to forget that it was all the same– it was exactly how he remembered it, except it wasn't, because this time, the heat that always lingered behind Harry's slights didn't even bother to make an appearance– this time something else entirely did.

So Zayn went and got shit-faced, because he couldn't understand any of it, the seemingly genuine smiles, the ' _I'm happy for you_ ,' the looks not filled with even a _hint_ of contempt. He really didn't appreciate any of it.

He was probably just losing his mind.

Or maybe it just had something to do with him having not seen Harry for years after he'd regrettably already gotten used to having to see him almost every single day, but either way, he had to get away from it all as soon as possible.

He's pretty sure that there were more shots involved in his plan to do so, a stupidly competitive drinking game of some sort, and some massively questionable weed, (it was not his most brilliant idea) and somehow, even with all that, he miraculously didn't end up waking up dead in a ditch somewhere or even face down in someone else's yard with a mouthful of grass or concrete.

So he supposes that he should be thankful right now, and he could stand to be a little nicer to Harry for it... Just in this case.

It's really the least he _could_ do, honestly, so, "Right," he nods slowly, yanking on his ear. "I'm not, am I?" He shoots Apollo a hopefully-apologetic-enough look. "You're right, Styles. I'm– 'm sorry."

Harry stares back at him, looking a tad stunned, and Zayn doesn't blame him. He probably would be too if he were him. He doesn't think that he's ever said to him unironically.

Harry lies back down, smiling a bit. "It's– s'alright. I accept your apology."

Zayn's glad... "Good," he nods once more, awkwardly. Now, for the real questions. He clears his throat, "So, um, why– why am I here again?" He's really trying not to come off as rude, but he'd also really like to know what the dickens he's doing in Harry's bed.

"You mean you don't remember?"

Zayn gulps. "Remember what exactly?" He's afraid to even ask.

"Why, you drunkenly confessing your undying love for me, of course." Harry grins cheekily at him, thoroughly ruining the moment. Why was Zayn trying to be nice to him again? "How could you forget something like that, Zayn? I'm starting to question if what you said was even real." He raises a hand to his heart, feigning hurt, and Zayn scowls immensely.

Has this kid ever _actually_ answered a question in his life? He'd have to guess not.

"It was all very sweet though," he goes on like an absolute nit. "You told me that you've loved me since the day that we met, and the fights that you always picked with me was just your way of trying to get my attention." He places a large hand on top of Zayn's. "I'm so happy that you were finally brave enough to come out with that. I know it couldn't've been easy."

Zayn jerks his hand from underneath his, glowering and cradling it to his chest as if he's been burnt. He kind of feels like he has. "Now I _know_ I'm in hell," he gripes, throwing Harry's lily-white duvet off as the idiot howls with laughter. "I have to go."

He doesn't even know what he's doing here in the first place. Hell, he doesn't even know how he got here. God, he hasn't blacked out in so long. He feels like he's a dumb kid in uni all over again. He guesses Apollo just brings out that side of him.

Harry stops tittering long enough to pout at him, fully sitting up. "You're leaving already, Zayn? I haven't even had the chance to make you breakfast yet."

He rolls his eyes, snorting. "There was never a chance of that happening, Styles. Look, I appreciate all that you probably did for me last night, but let's never speak of this again, yeah?"

His frown seems to only deepen, but Zayn averts his eyes so as to not get caught in its wake. Rather, he moves to get out of bed instead but desists when he sees his jeans from last night carelessly discarded on the weirdly patterned carpeted floor.

He looks down at himself, only now noticing the shirt that he's currently swimming in. He's still wearing his own pants, (he double checks to make sure) but he still has to ask, even as he hesitates. "What am I wearing?"

"Oh." Harry eyes him briefly. "That would be my shirt."

Zayn pales. "Why am I wearing your shirt?"

"You got sick all over yours last night, so I had to get you out of it," Harry explains. "I hope you don't mind."

Zayn nods slowly in understanding. "So that's it?"

"What do you mean?"

He dithers again. "I just vommed all over myself? We didn't...?"

Harry wets his lips now, arching a single eyebrow at him. He smirks, and Zayn abominates the view. He should have kept his mouth shut. "We didn't what, Zayn?"

He wants to bury himself in a hole. "You know..." He gesticulates vaguely nonetheless. "Last night, we didn't... right?"

Harry tilts his head to the side, bringing his thumb and index finger up to pinch his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know what you're asking me."

Zayn's sure that he does, but screw him if he thinks that he can make Zayn actually say it out loud when he himself is clearly not going to. He doesn't even want to think about it, for crying out loud, so he pointedly doesn't. In lieu, he simply huffs and swings his legs off the bed.

He snatches his clothes off the floor and hastily starts to pull them back on as he simultaneously scans the carpet for his shoes. He berates himself for getting himself in this situation in the first place. How could he let something like this happen?

"They're by the front door." He hears to his right in the middle of his inner rant, so he looks back up, over at the bed again.

"What?"

"Your shoes," Harry replies casually while getting out from under the duvet too. "They're by the front door. So's your jacket."

Zayn's eyebrows draw together. _How did he_ – He shakes his head. _Never mind. It doesn't matter._

He takes an extra look around the room just to be certain before muttering a sceptical _thanks_ to Apollo, checking for his keys and mobile before leaving him behind in a hurry.

His vision sways, and the world is swiveling, and he's pretty sure that he's still a little drunk and half-asleep, but he needs to get out of here this instant.

Both his shoes and jacket turn to out to be exactly where Harry said they were, and Zayn feels relief and annoyance fill him concurrently once he sees them and realizes that fact.

He quickly tugs them on then unlocks Harry's front door to push off. He yanks it open, gazing back for a second, wondering if maybe he should have said goodbye or something, because even if he does still hate Apollo's guts, he did help him out last night, (he's– he's guessing– he really can't remember) even though he didn't have to.

He ultimately decides against it though, because that's not them, not really, and it's never been them, and he thinks that they've been too _not them_ enough for one day, maybe even a lifetime, so he leaves without a word, trudging down the three steps in front of Harry's place, not looking back once. He has to get home.

Apparently though, fate, or in this case, someone much more obnoxious and too loud for the morning, has other plans.

"Well, well, well," he jeers jauntily as Zayn walks by. "What do we have here?"

Zayn groans, stopping in his tracks to shove his hands deep into his pockets and stare up at the dull sky, cursing that bleeding day in uni when he opened the door to his dorm room to find Louis sitting on the twin bed across from his.

"What are you two doing here?" He demands.

"We live here, love," Lana grins too brightly at him, sipping her tea.

In the back of his mind, Zayn curses the bleeding day that he agreed to practice her lines with her when she randomly came up to him and asked him in a coffee shop two years ago too.

"I meant, what are you doing _out_ ," he gestures, "here. Those chairs weren't there yesterday." He points at the incredibly uncomfortable looking plastic ones that they're sitting on now on the porch. "Did you really bring them out here and waited in hopes that you'd see me come out of Styles' flat?"

Lana scoffs theatrically. "Who's to say that we don't do this every morning?" One of Zayn's eyebrows lift. "But just for the record, you _are_ admitting to coming out of Harry's?"

Louis laughs next to her. "I know. I thought he might deny it as well."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "If you knew for certain that I did, what's the point of coming out here to stalk me, you creeps?"

"Well," his ex roommate starts, "you didn't think that we'd miss the chance to see you doing the walk of shame, did you?"

He swallows, pauses then. "The– the walk of shame?" Zayn echoes uncertainly. Wouldn't that would mean that he and Harry...?

"Yeah," Lana nods. "You know that instance where you have to walk back home in the same clothes that you wore the night before– or in your case, some of the clothes that you wore the night before, and a shirt from the person that you..." she trails off.

"The person that I...?"

Louis snorts. "Well, we don't have to tell you, Zed." He waves his hand dismissively at him. "You know what you and Harold were up doing all night."

He almost chokes. "What me and Harold were up doing all night?"

Lana purses her lips, eying him strangely. "Yes? Surely you haven't already forgotten the crazy evening that you had? Have you?"

His heart does something funny inside his chest. "The crazy evening that I had?"

Louis nods deliberately, surveying him as well. "It was one for the books, I'd say." He turns to his girl. "Wouldn't you, babe? I mean, the _debauchery_ was absolutely mad."

"Debauchery?" He squawks now, and he knows that he's very well just repeating everything that they're saying, but he can't fucking help it. Surely Louis isn't using that word correctly. Is he?

His tongue is in knots, and so is his stomach. He feels queasy and shaky and like he wouldn't mind it if his head fell off right now.

Lana must take note of all that though, because before he knows it, she's breaking into a laugh that she seemed to be holding in and letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh, God. You were right, Lou," she grins over at him, wiping both her eyes. "This was fun, but look at him. Look at that poor face." She cocks her head in his direction. "I think that's enough taking the piss for one morning, don't you?" She gently squeezes her boyfriend's arm before peering back at him. "Don't mind us, Zed. We just like seeing you go all pale like you are right now, but you and _Apollo_ both kept it in your pants last night, don't worry."

Zayn points an accusing finger at her. "Firstly, fuck you. I hate you both. I don't know how we're all still friends, and secondly, I'm the only one who gets to call him that," he tells her, before taking a deep breath. "But we did?" He asks, hearing his tone filled to the brim with hope. She rolls her eyes at him but nods with a quiet _mhm_ despite it. "Really? You're sure? So Styles and I didn't...?"

"Do the dance without your pants?" She finishes, snickering. "No, you didn't. I'm very sure of it, Zayn," she says so firmly that he's finally able to breathe again.

"Oh, thank God," he lets out extremely gratefully as his tense shoulders sag.

His relief, however, is very short-lived, because, "Jeez, don't sound so relieved," he suddenly hears directly behind him, causing them to go all rigid again, and _for fuck's sake_. For a tall, stringy, horribly uncoordinated lad, Harry Fucking Styles sure is light on his feet. "And just when I thought that we were bonding, Zayn," he sighs dramatically, appearing at his side. "Did our night together mean nothing to you?"

"Now you're getting the idea." Zayn smiles sarcastically at him before he can stop himself. "I was beginning to think that you had that big head of yours for nothing."

Harry narrows his eyes at him prior to breaking into a broad grin, looking like the dorky Cheshire Cat that he is. " _Oh_ , I get it. This is you picking a fight with me to get my attention again, innit?" He motions between the two of them. "There's no reason for you to do that anymore, Zayn. I already know how you feel."

Zayn scoffs. "Oh, I'm sure that you do," he replies easily, shaking his head. "What are you doing here, Styles?"

"I live here, hot stuff." He winks, causing Zayn to roll his eyes and think _not this again_.

"I _meant_ , what are you doing out of your house, smart ass?" He clarifies.

Harry only smiles back at him, and Zayn really isn't prepared for what he says next. "Have breakfast with me," he proposes as if that's a completely normal thing for him to do.

Zayn has to take a step back, even if he does so unconsciously. "What?"

Apollo's resolve stays intact. "There's this lovely place around the corner that makes amazing bread," he elaborates, doing some weird gestures with his hands. "I go there every Sunday morning. Come with me."

Zayn scrunches his face up. "No," he replies on instinct. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you have to try it at least once, Zayn," Harry shrugs like that's reason enough.

And, "I actually don't, mate," he shoots back, making the golden boy pout instantly.

"You really don't want to?" He asks, and Zayn doesn't respond, just looks back at him expectantly, because he's pretty sure that's what he said, but Harry isn't giving up. He simply makes himself appear even more woeful in the face of it, if that's even possible. "Would it help if I said please?"

"No, it really wouldn't." Zayn shakes his head at him, turning away and shielding his eyes from the effect. "And stop looking at me like that."

Harry does, but only to twinkle at him instead. "Why? Is it working?"

 _Yes_. "No," Zayn says, "you look like an idiot, Styles."

Harry huffs, offended, but it's someone else who lets out a massive sigh at his words. "Oh for god's sake, Zayn," Louis complains, looking exasperated. "Will you just go with him? You two are going to stand here arguing all day if you don't." He's about to object, because he thinks that's only _half_ true, but his best mate isn't done yet. "You can pick some bagels up for me and Lana too if you go."

His forehead crinkles. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because we both have to get ready now," Louis states as if he believes that Zayn is daft. "Speaking of, when are you going to?"

"When am I going to what?"

"Get dressed and stuff," Lana answers for him, and Zayn really hasn't a clue what they're talking about, but Harry cuts in before he can ask.

"Where are Niall and Liam, by the way?" He inquires.

"Payno's gone all the way home for a shower and change of clothes, and Nialler's dead on the couch," Louis rejoins before his eyes go wide with excitement. "Want me to wake him?"

Harry considers it, appearing amused. "Going by your tone and the look in your eyes, I'm afraid of what that might entail."

"Fair enough." Louis nods. "So, will you get those bagels for us then, Zed? Little lonely Harold here could really use the company."

"Hey," Harry pouts petulantly. He waits a beat before shrugging. "But yeah, he's right. I really could."

"Li and Ni would probably appreciate some bagels too, love," Lana puts in, batting her eyelashes innocently at him, and Zayn stretches a groan out, glaring at all three of them.

"Fine," he relents. "I'll go, but only if it'll get all of you to quit looking at me like that." _Master manipulators, the lot of them._

Harry dimples, and it really is a tragedy that someone as annoying as he is is such a sight to behold, Zayn can't help but think to himself.

"Brilliant," Louis grins. "Off you go now. Don't kill each other."

Lana shakes her head, standing from her seat and pulling her boyfriend up as well. "What he means is have fun, you two."

"No promises," Zayn rolls his eyes as he turns to go. "To either of those," he adds just to be clear.

-

"So," he starts after a while of walking in complete silence, "what are we doing, Styles?"

Harry glances at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?" He asks. "We're getting breakfast, Zayn."

"Alright." Zayn licks his lips, because he guesses that question _was_ pretty ambiguous. "Why are we getting breakfast then?" He tries more specifically.

"Because I'm hungry?" Harry sounds and looks confused. "Aren't you? You should be. You need to get some food in you after the night that you had. You need some water too."

"Why?"

"Well," he juts his lips out, "consuming a lot of alcohol can cause dehydration, and the water helps to–"

"Why did you want us to spend time together, Styles?" Zayn bluntly interrupts him before he can start nonsensically rambling on like he always does. "Don't you hate me?"

He's been wanting to ask this since last night, and since he isn't sure if the alcohol and weed gave him enough courage to do so, he's trying his luck right now.

Harry's mouth snaps closed. He frowns. "I don't hate anyone, Zayn."

"Except me," Zayn tacks on surely, and Apollo shakes his head, his soft brown curls swaying with the movement.

"I don't," he assures him firmly. "I never did."

Zayn chuckles then, rolling his eyes. "Now I know that you're lying."

Harry falters, pursing his lips, and after a minute, he too releases a small laugh. "Okay, maybe I used to a little," he confesses, running a hand through his hair. "But that was a long time ago. I've changed. I'm, like, proper mature now."

Their eyes meet as Zayn peers over at him. "Is that so?" He humors him.

"It is," he nods as they suddenly stop walking and face each other. "You've changed too, Zayn."

"I have?" His eyebrows knit together.

"Sure," Harry shrugs easily. "You have a nose ring now." He points at it, and Zayn raises a finger up to touch it before he realizes what he's doing.

Harry laughs again before stepping away from him, and Zayn glowers at his back as he watches him walk into the bakery that he's still stupidly standing in front of.

He stays there in that exact spot for a few minutes, feeling as stubborn as ever and not wanting to follow him in, before he huffs out a quiet sigh and does just that.

The bell above the door chimes as he enters, and instantly, the smell of delicious homemade pastries tickles his nose. Harry's animatedly speaking to an elderly gentleman behind the counter, and Zayn's way too awkward to go up and join him, so he hangs back near the door, taking in the decor.

It's a quaint little place, the bakery. There are four small, round tables, with a pair of chairs each situated in the room, two on either side, and the area is dimly lit above them.

The ambience it creates makes him feel warm and homey, and it reminds him of the one that he and Harry used to work at, back in the day, with smooth, brown walls that have framed black and white photos of family members, he'd have to guess, and presumably happy customers, lining them.

The whole place is sweet, Zayn thinks as he looks around. Although, upon closer inspection of the pictures on the wall, he has to second guess that opinion as he finds himself rolling his eyes at them, or really, at one in particular.

 _Of course Apollo is up here_ , he thinks as he studies it.

He's stood between the same older guy from behind the counter and another who appears to be around the same age, smiling with one of his thumbs up. He looks ridiculous... but so very _Harry_.

Zayn doesn't have time to ponder over what that even means and how he somehow subconsciously still knows what it does, because he makes out footsteps coming towards him before he can. He turns just in time to come face to face with the man himself.

"Here you are," he smiles, handing him a bottle of water. "Drink up," he orders, and Zayn arches an eyebrow at him, prompting him to sigh. "Please?" He adds, pulling that dumb pouty face again. "It'll help you feel better."

Zayn exhales, finally taking it from him. "Fine," he grumbles and proceeds to gulp down more than half the bottle. He guesses it does help a bit. "Did you get the bagels?" Harry lifts a bag in response, so he nods in thanks and takes another sip.

"Better?" Harry asks once he's done, getting a second nod in return. "Great," he beams softly, tilting his head towards the exit. "Are you ready to go then?"

"We aren't staying?" Zayn frowns.

"Do you– do you want to?" Harry wonders slowly, his lips gradually pulling up smugly. "Are you, dare I say, starting to enjoy my company, Zayn?"

Zayn walks away from him and out the door as an answer.

He's not lucky enough to get away though. He hears the git's irritating laugh trailing only a step behind him as he strides, so he calls over his shoulder, "You can say it all you like. 's not gonna make it true," and attempts to speed up.

But Harry easily falls into step with him, his annoying long legs giving him an advantage. "Mean," he sulks before shaking his head. "Anyway, as much as I'd have loved for us to stay– _sometimes I just pass by here for the smell_ ," he whispers, "– we should really get back, Zayn." He wraps his fingers around Zayn's wrist to stop him from walking. " _But_ not without you trying this first."

He opens one of the paper bags that he's holding and pushes the bread up until it's sticking out at the top. "Bite," he instructs, and Zayn raises an eyebrow once again, and once again, Harry sighs. "Please?"

Zayn produces an eye roll but does as he's told for the second time, sinking his teeth into the still warm loaf.

"Well?" Harry poses almost immediately. "How is it?"

Zayn finishes chewing before nodding. "'s good." He shrugs, tugging his wrist away from his hold and resuming walking.

Apollo looks thoroughly offended. " _Good_?" He repeats, scoffing. "It's _good_?" He demands. "It's better than good, Zayn. It's– it's the best bread that I've ever had."

Zayn chuckles, plunging his hands into his pockets. He looks over at him. "Don't let Deborah hear you."

Harry shakes his head, but he smiles as well. "Besides hers. We all know that she's the best. There's not even a comparison," he insists. "But this is amazing." He purposefully takes a bite of bread from another paper bag. "Admit it," he says around a mouthful.

Zayn makes a face of disgust. "Don't talk with food in your mouth," he chastises. "But yes, I concede. It _is_ amazing."

Harry smiles triumphantly and shoves the bread towards his mouth once more. He frowns slightly but takes another bite, because it really is fantastic.

"When's the last time that you saw her?" He asks once he's swallowed.

"Deborah?" Harry queries. Zayn nods and waits patiently as he has another go at his bread. "A few months ago, I think," he divulges when he's done, wiping at the corner of his mouth where some flakes have stuck around. "I try to swing by there whenever I remember to, you know? If I have the time."

"Me too," Zayn admits, pursing his lips.

Harry glances at him. "You do?"

"Mhm." He steals his own paper bag from him, champing down on his loaf.

"Huh," Harry mumbles quietly.

Zayn looks back at him. "What?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. "I was just thinking about how strange it is that we never ran into each other while we visited over the years."

Zayn contemplates that. That is kind of strange, he guesses. "Luck must have been on our side," he jokes. "You know she probably would have forced us to clean up the entire place if we started an argument in her shop like always she used to when we'd bicker during the shifts that we had together."

"Oh, man," Harry breaks into a laugh then, nudging him. "Too right. We did get stuck doing that a lot, didn't we?"

Zayn laughs along with him. "We really did."

Harry chuckles again, seemingly reminiscing. "Remember that time I slipped on the wet floor that you'd just mopped and didn't warn me about, and I tore my trousers?"

Zayn guffaws as the memory that he'd forgotten that he even had begins to play in his head. "You had to walk home with your apron on backwards."

"God," Harry hides his face in his hands, shaking with sniggers. "Still probably not the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me."

"I don't doubt that," Zayn agrees with him, snorting. "That was a good day."

Harry levels him a dark look for a second, but soon, he can't help but snort too. "You're such an asshole," he ribs, and Zayn grins.

"Now you're starting to sound like the Styles I know."

It's quiet for the next few minutes as they walk side by side and eat in the middle of street, but it's oddly nice, Zayn thinks, as weird as it is.

"Well, don't you two look cozy," Louis' voice soon cuts into his thoughts. He hadn't even realized that they were back already.

"They do, don't they?" Lana obnoxiously coos along with him, and Zayn lightly glares at them both.

"Do you both have nothing better to do?" He drawls, stopping in front of their porch.

"Not at the moment, no," Louis says back, not missing a beat.

"Did you two have a nice time?" His girlfriend muses.

Zayn shrugs with a small smile. "So-so," he returns, bringing his bread up to his mouth and glancing at Apollo.

"You loved it," he elbows him, smiling too.

"Right," Lana nods slowly, looking between the two of them with a smirk. "Well, we're all ready for you, Haz. Liam's on his way back, and Niall just hopped out the shower."

"That's great," Harry beams. "I should go get ready too then."

"And you, Zayn? When are you going to change?" Louis asks, and Zayn turns to gaze at him, downright confused. Is he talking to him?

"What do you mean, mate? Change for what?"

"For the beach," Lana replies as if he shouldn't even have had to ask that. His befuddled expression doesn't clear though. Are they messing with him again? "Or– or do you not remember that part either?"

Louis tsks as he realizes. "Clearly, he doesn't."

Zayn begins to panic. "What? What? What don't I remember?"

Lana looks properly horrified at the entire situation. "Our big plans, Zayn! You've– you've seriously forgotten them?" He isn't able to answer that. "For real? How– how _could_ you, Zed? I can't even– I– I tell you, I am flabbergasted." She begins waving her arms around wildly, looking as if she's about to hyperventilate. "I am outraged. I am appalled. I am absolutely–"

"Completely overreacting?" Harry cuts in, chuckling, before she can lunge at Zayn or burst into a barrage of fake tears or something. She isn't an actress for nothing. "C'mon, it's fine, Lana Banana. Calm down. I mean, I– I guessed that he would anyway. Zayn did have a lot to drink, remember?"

"But– but," she protests with a pout, "he was so excited about it last night."

And now they're talking about him like he's not even here?

"Please, babe," Louis rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, "Zayn was excited about _everything_ last night."

That does sort of sound like intoxicated him. Still, "Can one of you please just tell me what you're all on about? 'm lost," he states.

His friends both look to Harry then, as if _he_ holds all the answers, which Zayn just thinks is ridiculous, (they've clearly never tried to ask him a question) until he sees him open his stupid pretty mouth to do just that: answer.

"Well," Harry tugs on a curl, sighing, "you, uh, you promised that you'd come with me to the beach today," he reveals, making Zayn's eyebrows pinch together. "I'm helping out with this cleanup campaign, and you begged me to tag along, and you got the others to agree to come as well."

He's waiting for Harry to start splitting his sides now that he's obviously made another attempt at a terrible joke, but it never comes. He looks serious, scarily serious even, and also a bit hopeful, Zayn thinks, for some reason, so he knows that he has to say something.

"I– I did that?" is all that manages to make its way out of his severely incompetent mouth, however.

Apollo's face falls as soon as the words escape him. He frowns but attempts to cover it up with a laugh. "You sound surprised."

Zayn feels even more lost now. Why is Harry suddenly doing that complicated thing with his face, and why does he want to make it all better? He shakes his head quickly. "No, I'm not– I just– I mean– I didn't–"

He splutters doltishly, and Harry chuckles again, the forced sound chopping through his incoherent string of words. "Hey, it's cool, Zayn," he tells him. “Really. You don't have to say anything, or do anything, or go anywhere that you don't want to, for that matter."

Zayn falters and tries to study his expression carefully. Something tangled and unfamiliar is flashing behind Harry's eyes, and he can't, for the life of him, read it, but he _is_ giving him an out right now, isn't he? And he's hoping that Zayn'll take it, because that'd just be weird, right? The two of them even _more_ spending time together when they really don't have to?

Yes, he's sure that that's what he's trying to communicate... right? So he does.

"Really?" He asks expectantly. "So you won't get pissy if I leave?"

Harry visibly deflates at that, like Zayn chose the wrong option, but shakes his head all the same. "Course not," he smiles a tad dimly than usual. "I mean, it's– it's like I said, you were drunk when you told me that you'd help, obviously, and I expected this, so I very well can't expect you to honor your promise now, can I?" He speedily focuses back on Louis and Lana before Zayn can counter. "Um, so Niall and Liam?"

"I'll go get Nialler," Lana rejoins, "and I'll call to check in with Li."

"Thanks," Harry tells her, purposely avoiding looking back at Zayn. "Here are your bagels. I'm going to go get my things. Meet you guys back here in ten?"

Louis nods. "We'll be waiting, Harold."

He departs without another word or even a glance Zayn's way, and Louis and Lana turn to scowl at him as soon as he's out of sight.

Zayn's brow furrows at them. "What? Don't look at me like that. I didn't even get the chance to say anything," he tries to defend himself.

"You didn't have to." Lana's hands fly to her hips. "The look on your face says everything." She gestures to his mush. "Do you really not want to go? Do you hate him _that_ much, Zayn?"

"No," he says quickly, too quickly. He sighs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as his grip tightens around the empty paper bag in his hand. "I'm just– I'm confused is all. I don't remember anything."

"Which is why next time you should avoid getting so mullered, you mug," Louis' girlfriend admonishes him, shaking her head like she's utterly disappointed in him. She probably is. "Listen, I can't tell you what to do, Zed, but I'd really like it if you showed up, okay? And all the marine life probably would too." She blows a breath out before standing from her seat. "I'm getting Ni."

Zayn exhales tiredly, watching her go, and he sends a flat look to Louis as soon as she's gone. "I blame you for this," he informs him, all disgruntled and edgily.

"Understandable," he allows, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit. "So are you coming then?"

Zayn runs a hand down his face. "I don't know, Lou," he whines." Like, I'm coming up blank with anything that involves last night, and I've still got a hangover right now, and I'm so fucking confused, and Styles– Styles..."

"Looks like you just told him to cut his hair?" Louis completes for him.

"Yeah," he sighs once more. "Styles looks like I just told him to cut his hair." He yanks on the ends of his own. "I didn't mean to–"

"I know," his best mate ensures, "and you know that I'd never force you to do anything that you don't wanna do, Zed," Zayn doesn't quite think that that's true, (didn't he just force him to go get bagels with Harry?) but okay, "but this was your brilliant idea after all."

"So you've all said," he mumbles, staring at his feet. "Do you think that he even really wants me there though?"

Louis hums. "I can't answer that, lad," he says. "But you _could_ try asking him yourself, you know?" Zayn believes that's the stupidest idea that he's ever heard. "Or you could try asking you." He glances back up at Louis then. "But maybe just the you from last night. He seemed quite close with Harold."

Zayn feels his mouth go dry, and he thinks that something's embedded itself in his throat. "Look, I just– I think I just need to get home and sleep everything off, yeah?"

Because none of this is making any sense to him. He gets that he was fucked up, but how could he ever seem _close_ to _Apollo_? And why would he _beg_ to go somewhere with him? And– and go _home_ with him too? Him of all people? When his best friend lives literally a door away? The whole thing is absurd.

And sure, Zayn went to get breakfast with him and it wasn't _horrible_ , and sure, he would love to help out with the beach cleanup, he really would, but he doesn't know how much more of Harry's seemingly genuine smiles, and ' _I'm happy for you_ 's, and the looks not filled with even a _hint_ of contempt that he can take, because that's not them, not really, and it's never been them, and it never will be them, and he knows now that they've definitely been too _not them_ enough for _two_ days, maybe even a lifetime.

So he leaves, only muttering a soft, "I'll, uh, I'll call you later," to Louis before he goes, because he has to.

-

He doesn't though.

He doesn't call Louis. Instead, he sleeps. As soon as he's in his too empty flat, he drops into his bed, and he sleeps. He sleeps to ease his mind. He sleeps to not think about it. He sleeps to get away. But he doesn't– get away, that is– because as he sleeps, he dreams.

Dreams of coruscating green eyes and a wide pink smile. Dreams of swirls upon swirls of green and gold melded together forever. Dreams of warmth and burning and sweet music softly caressing his ears. Dreams of flying and falling, of light and the sun.

Dreams of _him._

_"What are you doing?" Harry's hoarse voice finds him on Louis' front porch well into the night, and at this point, Zayn isn't even surprised to see him._

_He takes a swig of his drink, side-eyeing him. "'m avoiding you, Styles,_ obviously _."_ Because you're everywhere I go tonight, and you appear just when I think that my heart's under control.

 _Harry rolls his eyes as he takes the seat next to him on the steps. "I_ meant _, what are you doing out here all alone with just a bottle of whiskey to keep you company, Zayn?"_

 _He laughs softly at that, glancing at him, rolling his eyes in turn. "I don't suppose_ you _would rather keep me company instead?"_

_"Maybe." Harry shrugs with a small, noncommittal smile. "But seriously, I think that you've reached your limit." He wraps his fingers around the bottle that Zayn's holding. "May I?"_

_He releases his grip on it, sighing. "Why the fuck not?" He lets Harry have it and replace it with something much colder that he seems to pull out of nowhere._

_"There you go," he tells him, and when Zayn looks down, he realizes that he's now clasping a bottle of water. "Drink up. It'll help."_

_Zayn stares down at it. "Why?"_

_"Well," Harry juts his lips out, "consuming a lot of alcohol can cause dehydration, and the water helps to–"_

_"Why are you out here helping me, Styles?" Zayn bluntly interrupts him before he can start nonsensically rambling on like he always does. "I don't like you, you know?"_

_Harry chuckles, running a hand through his hair then. "Oh, I know."_

_Zayn scoffs. "Oh, I'm sure that you do," he replies easily, because there's no way that he couldn't, "so why are you being so nice to me right now then?" He shakes his head,_ _confused, which turns out to be a big mistake, because it makes everything go all spin-y._

 _He gulps down more than half the water and places both hands on the sides of his face to keep it in place before continuing. "I mean, why have you been so nice to me tonight in general?" He sighs, squeezing the bottle. "I've always been a dick to you, Styles. You're supposed to hate me too. That's how it works."_ That's how it's always worked.

_Harry's only beaming at him when Zayn turns to look at him because he hasn't answered, staring so much that Zayn's starting to feel self-conscious. He looks away when he catches what he's doing though, clearing his throat._

_"Yes, well, while that may be true, I just don't see it like that anymore, I guess." He twists his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger. "I mean, sure, we've had our differences, Zayn, but that was a long time ago, and we were just dumb kids back then." He glances back at him._

_"So you don't think that we're dumb right now?"_

_"Maybe_ you _are." Harry nudges his shoulder with his own playfully. He waits a beat as Zayn pouts and laughs once he sees it. "No, I'm just kidding," he promises. "You've always been the most brilliant person that I know," Zayn's not exactly sure what to do with that, "and_ _even if I didn't like you, Zayn, that wouldn't change the fact that everyone deserves to be treated with kindness. Even_ you _," he teases. "I mean, why choose to spread hate when I can choose to spread love instead?"_

_Zayn sighs tryingly as he takes in his every word. "I really don't like you."_

_Harry laughs, not daring to look away. "Yes, you've said."_

_Zayn shifts closer to rest his head on his shoulder. It just feels too heavy right now, and Harry looks nice and comfy. "You're just so good, you know?" He murmurs as an explanation and feels Harry go tense underneath him. "You've always been so good, Harry. I wish I could be as good as you are."_

Zayn wakes clutching his heart, his breath shallow and ragged. What the fuck was that?

He closes his eyes, breathing deeply as the dream begins to slip away from him. He tries to pull it back to him, just to replay it a few more times, but the images are too slick, and he can't get a firm hold on them.

Whatever it was though, he realizes that it's left him with the sudden urge to get to the beach immediately, or maybe get as far away from the beach as possible... immediately.

He supposes that he'll have to decide on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swear I edited this shiz so many times I could probably recite it word for word by now  
> anyhoos, does it suck? ;(


	4. That’s Kinky, Apollo

_where are you ?_

He pulls his phone out and sends the text message to Louis as soon as his car is in park.

It's the third unanswered one in a row, meaning that Zayn has to take a deep breath to calm himself as he realizes that he's been left with no other choice. He has to leave the safety and comfort of his own vehicle.

He groans at just the thought of it, wearily eying the enormous crowd of people scattered across the nearest beach that he'd headed to after he'd basically woken up in a cold sweat about a half hour ago.

Maybe he should just turn back and forget this whole thing, he immediately thinks. He doesn't even know if he's at the right place for fuck's sake, (because all of his mates have apparently forgotten how to answer a bloody phone) and he briefly has to wonder if this is all a sign– all a sign that he shouldn't be attempting to make things better with Harry Fucking Styles, weird as shit dream or not.

He means, they're not friends, and they've never been friends, so the gnawing feeling that pokes at the insides of Zayn's stomach every time he thinks about Apollo and the face that he made when he asked if he could leave is absolutely incomprehensible, as is the abrupt desire that he felt to see him after waking up, the abrupt desire that is still present at the moment.

He bangs his head against his steering wheel. What is he even doing right now, and how did his life come to this?

_"Zayn," he heard Deborah call for him from a table in the corner. "Would you come here for a minute? There's someone that I'd like for you to meet."_

_He glanced away from the main entrance of the bakery then, which he'd inattentively been staring at for who knows how long as he leaned against the counter, and instead peered over at his boss, raising an eyebrow when he noticed the fit bloke from his English class standing next to her, the one who always made awful puns during their lessons._

_Zayn guessed that he was the new employee that Deborah'd been searching for to replace Paige._

_"Zayn, love, meet Harry," his boss said to him once he'd moved from his station and headed over to them. "He's going to be working here from now on," she confirmed his suspicions. "Harry, dear," she then turned to Fit Bloke,_ _who was smiling widely, and holy shit, he had dimples. Zayn had never noticed that. "This is Zayn. He's going to be training you."_

_Dimples instantly stuck his hand out towards him, and Zayn looked down at it for a second, taking in all the tattoos and rings that he could see, which just happened to make him even more attractive, before he took the hand in his._

_"Hi," he mumbled, smiling politely as he glanced back up into ridiculously green eyes and attempted to ignore the sensation that was shooting through his skin._

_"Hello," he got a smile back and literal chills too. Fit Bloke's voice was deep and raspy and kind of sounded like the vocal embodiment of sex. "It's very nice to meet you, Zayn."_

_And as he listened to the way that Dimples– er,_ Harry _drawled his name, Zayn couldn't help but think how nice it was to meet him too._

He sighs, pushing all his thoughts to the back of his mind, and finally opens the door to his right, because his overthinking isn't helping anything.

"Holy shit, watch it, will you?" A voice instantly yelps as soon as he does though. "Can you not see or something?" It goes on to berate, sounding extremely annoyed, and he really did not need this on top of everything this morning. Why does the universe hate him?

"You nearly hit me with the door, you–" The person suddenly stops themself, and rather than being told off, he hears an uncertain, "Zayn?" being called out to him instead, and his eyebrows pinch together at the familiarity of the way that it's uttered.

He swings his legs to the side from where he's still sat in the car and looks up at his victim. In an instant, a smile spreads across his face. "Jas?"

She immediately grins back at him. "I thought that looked like the back of your head," she quips, holding her arms out. "Though, I'm sure that your hair was green the last time that I saw you."

Zayn's eyes crinkle as he steps out and forward to envelope her in a hug. "I'm sure that you're right, but I can't even remember myself. It's been so long, yeah?"

"Tell me about it," she says, pulling away from him, beaming still. "Where have you been hiding?"

"In my flat, mostly," he answers her honestly. "What– what are you doing here? I didn't know that you moved back to the city."

Jas pokes at his stomach lightly. "Well, maybe you would if you picked up the phone and rang once in a while, wouldn't you?"

He lifts an eyebrow at her in response. "Last I checked, the phone worked both ways, babe," he tells her, though he harbors not a hint of ill will.

She only laughs good-naturedly at that. "Touché." She nods sagely. "I actually just moved back a few months ago though. Missed this place too much. Missed the work that I did here."

She wraps her arms around herself, and it is then that he notices the 'Smiling Earth' shirt that she's currently wearing. "I can see that." He shuts his car door as he watches her tilt her head at him.

"What about you?" She quizzes. "Why are you here?"

Zayn was expecting the question, but it still throws him for a loop. He asked himself only a few moments ago, and he still isn't sure.

"Oh, I'm just looking for my mates," he answers, however, figuring that last word would raise less questions than if he said that he was searching for his _Apollo._

_"Definitely the son of Greek gods," Talia whispered definitively as she stood next to him behind the counter. "I mean, there's no doubt about it. He's so hot that I'm literally burning my eyes just looking at him, Z."_

_That was the third time that she'd said something like that in the last two minutes. Zayn was this close to plugging his ears closed with pretzels or something._

_"That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?" He arched an eyebrow at her. "And what are you even doing here already? Your shift doesn't start for another hour."_

_"Oh, I, uh– I had some free time this afternoon," his coworker and friend waved her hand dismissively in his general direction, "so I thought that I'd come in to get some extra work in, you know?" She bullshited, not even turning to look at him. "You were training him,_ _right? Do you know if he's seeing anyone?"_

_He rolled his eyes at that. "You mean the offspring of gods and the sun over there?" He gazed over to stare at Harry himself._

_Harry who was currently chatting up a customer whom he'd somehow convinced to buy almost the entire shop. Zayn would be impressed if he didn't already figure that he_ _could get anyone to do just about anything. All he had to do was flash that brilliant dimpled smile at them, and they wouldn't stand a chance._

_"No, I don't think that quite came up while I was teaching him how to set up the banana bread display, but why don't you ask him yourself, Tal? I have work to do."_

_He actually really didn't, seeing as the bakery was mostly empty right now, but he'd felt that he'd rather lie and pretend that he did as he wiped down tables that had already been cleaned than listen to someone else completely fall at Styles' feet._

_He hadn't even been around for very long, and he was already everyone's favorite. Zayn didn't get it._

_Or, maybe he did, because at some point, he himself had found himself wrapped up in Harry's magnetism, even if it was only for a brief moment, and he'd found himself thoroughly enraptured by his lethal smile too, but Zayn would eat a snail before ever admitting that._

_He was just glad that he'd realized that it was all an act that Styles put on before he could do something stupid like tell him that he looked like he was Apollo or some shit like Talia appeared she was working up the courage to do._

"They should be around here somewhere, I think." He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. "Unless there's another cleanup happening at another beach today," he worries, reaching for his mobile, whose screen still isn't displaying any new messages or missed calls from his friends. "No one's answering me."

"I'm not surprised." Jas smiles sympathetically at him. "Look around you, hon. Answering your phone doesn't really seem like top priority right now, does it?" She queries. "But tell you what, I can help you search. There are a lot of people here today, but maybe you could tell me what they look like? Maybe I've spoken to them or seen them around."

It suddenly hits Zayn how much he's missed her and simultaneously reminds him of why he almost definitely fell in love with her all those years ago. She really is one of the sweetest and most helpful persons that he's ever met.

He smiles at her. "You've already met them, actually. Niall, Louis, Liam, and Lana?"

Her dark brown eyes flash with recognition. "Ah, right. The loud ones." She twinkles teasingly at him. "Well, I've not seen them, but I think that I know someone who might've. Come with me, gorgeous." She gestures with her head for him to follow her out of the parking lot.

They weave their way through the crowd once they've hit the beach, joking around and catching up on what they've been up to lately until they spot a familiar curly-haired golden boy standing a few feet away with his back turned to them.

For some reason, Zayn's stupid heart speeds up as soon as his eyes land on him. He should have just went and said that he was looking for Apollo then, since Jas brought him to him anyway.

She taps him on the back while Zayn stays a ways behind, somewhat warily keeping his distance.

"Hey there, good looking," she greets him with a hand on the shoulder once he spins to look at her. "Just the person that I wanted to see."

Harry instantly dimples back at her. "Hello, lovely. I'm glad that you found me. I actually need– Zayn?" His head lifts as his eyes catch Zayn's, his brows knitting together for a second as he cuts his sentence short. He quickly smoothes them back out though, and his face morphs into an unreadable expression.

"Styles. Hey." Zayn nods awkwardly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The unreadable is usually his thing.

"What– what are you doing here?" Harry asks slowly, stepping closer to him. "I thought that you went home."

"I did," Zayn replies, wetting his mouth. "I just had these– these, um–" he struggles to find the right words to describe it, so, "never mind," he simply mutters, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'm here to keep my promise... If it isn't too late."

Harry raises a hand to use his thumb and index finger to tug on his bottom lip. "What do you mean by that?"

He shrugs in response as if the answer is obvious. "I'm here to help you, Styles– or, er, help out, I guess."

Apollo still doesn't react, however. "Really?" He sounds sceptical.

"Really." Zayn nods solemnly, and there's silence for a minute, with Jas just standing there, looking between the two of them like she's no clue what do or say, until Harry eventually speaks up and rescues her from having to internally debate on it much longer.

"Alright," he plainly says. "Well, you can't do it wearing that." He gives Zayn a once over. "Come on. I have some extra clothes in my car. I'll be right back, love," he tells Jas with a wink.

-

Zayn finds himself back in the parking lot not even a minute later.

This time, he's standing in front of Harry's vehicle, waiting as Apollo digs through a gym bag in his backseat. They've both not said anything to each other up until this point, and to say that it's been awkward would be the understatement of the century.

"Your friends are currently turning in their rubbish, if you were wondering," Harry breaks the quiet when he slams the car door shut and hands him a casual t-shirt and trousers, "and after that, they're heading out to eat. If you want to go with them, you're absolutely free to do so, but I'm staying here a bit longer to help with the afternoon group. I told them that I'd probably meet up with them once I was finished."

Zayn takes his words in and the way that his tone is clipped. He tries not to be offended by it, instead choosing to focus on the fact that, "They're done already?"

Harry only nods. Then, "So?" he puts forward expectantly, and Zayn's eyebrows crinkle. Did he miss something?

"So what?"

"So are you leaving?" Harry clarifies, sounding as if he believes that Zayn is absolutely daft.

And, "Oh," he mumbles. "No. No, I'm– I can stay," he splutters out before saying more firmly, "I want to stay."

Apollo stares at him for what feels like hours prior to finally nodding shortly. "Okay then," he murmurs. "You can meet Jas back over there once you've gotten changed." He points to around the area where they'd left her. "She'll give you everything that you need."

"Wait, you aren't coming with me?" are the words that leave his mouth before he can stop them. He mentally curses himself.

Harry raises his eyebrows at him seemingly mockingly, and his demeanor is completely different from the way that it was just about an hour or two ago. "To get changed?"

Zayn feels his face go hot, the traitor. "No, I mean, like, after," he hastily clears up. "You want to split up? I thought that we'd– that you wanted me to help you."

"You _are_ helping me," Harry tells him easily, "but there's no need for us to spend even _more_ time together when we don't have to, right?"

Zayn feels something weird happen inside of him at those words, at his own words, the ones that he didn't happen to actually say out loud but still remembers clearing ringing out in his head earlier.

"Right," he agrees, nonetheless. "Where do I go exactly?"

Harry directs him to restrooms, then, "Is that it?" and that's when Zayn knows that he'd have been better off just staying at home.

At least his pride was still _kind of_ in tact there.

-

"Zayn!" Liam grins widely when he sees him making his way towards him on the beach. "You made it, man. I guess that you're feeling better then?"

"I am." Zayn nods, only half lying. "You turn in your rubbish already?"

"I did. Everyone else is still waiting to, but what about you?" His friend questions. "Did you get here in time to help out with everything?"

"No, but I am staying to clean up with the afternoon group." _With someone who won't even talk to me, with someone whom I'm not even sure why I want them to, when only today I was wishing for them to leave me alone._

"That's great." Liam grips his shoulder. "Harry's staying too."

"So I've heard," Zayn mutters lowly. "Also heard that you guys were going out to eat."

"Yeah, we're starving," Liam reveals. "Those bagels that you lads got for us were incredible, but there weren't nearly enough to satisfy."

"That's hardly surprising," Zayn teases, then falters, thinking his next words over very carefully. "Hey, speaking of Styles, is everything okay with him?"

Liam frowns slightly. "What do you mean, mate?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He just seems to be in a bit of a mood, don't you think?"

Right at that moment, just a couple yards away from them, Harry passes by, and, with a bright smile, shouts, "Hi, Liam," as he waves without stopping, and Liam smiles and waves back at him before turning to face Zayn again.

"He seems fine to me."

He sort of wants to punch something. "Maybe he's just being moody with me then."

"Maybe." Liam shrugs, appearing as if he doesn't see what the big deal is, and he more than likely doesn't. Hell, Zayn doesn't even know if he does himself. "Isn't that, like, your guys' whole thing though?"

_"I can't believe that I let you talk me into this," Zayn sighed as he walked into the riotous pub that lived just around the corner from his work._

_Talia squeezed his arm in return, ignoring his pessimism as she lead him over to a table that was being inhabited by some of their other coworkers._

_"Oh, come on," she gave him an eye roll. "Like I said earlier, you could really use tonight, Z. I mean, you never hang out with us anymore. All you do is work and study these days, even Louis thinks so, and that's all good and well. It really is. I honestly wish that I could be a bit more like you sometimes, but everyone needs a little break now and again. Even you."_

_He frowned. "But did I have to take the break_ _here? This place is so loud and crowded and–"_

_"Your mortal enemy is here?" She finished for him, smirking teasingly and gesturing towards someone in front of them. "Yeah, I noticed."_

_Zayn glanced forward then to where he could see Harry leaning against Neo and laughing exuberantly at something that he said to him, and, at the sight, consequently felt something unpleasant turn over in his stomach._

_For as friendly as Harry and Zayn had started out, the two seemed to be at odds now, and_ _while Zayn was aware of why_ he'd _decided that he didn't like Styles as much as he'd initially thought that he would, (due to the fact that he believed that he was a brat whom everyone loved simply because he just spewed out whatever shit he thought that they wanted to hear in that moment but didn't ever actually say anything when it really mattered) he wasn't entirely sure why Harry had recently decided the same about him, because for a while, he was still pretty cordial towards Zayn and still tried to talk to him like he did_ _everyone else, but one day, he just stopped._

_Zayn supposed that Harry'd grown tired of attempting to get him to like him as much as all the others already did, and he figured that that was probably for the best. Besides, it's not like he could entirely blame him. He guessed that he wouldn't be particularly warm with someone who didn't return his energy either._

_Still, "He's not my mortal enemy," he grumbled just as they reached the table._

_A chorus of 'hey's instantly rang out once everyone saw that they'd made it– Zayn especially, and he smiled and greeted them all back just as friendly. Although he had to turn around and curse under his breath barely a second later when he realized that the only seats left were next to Styles._

_Luckily, Talia happily gave him a buffer, still not over her crush on him, but Zayn still felt too close to him for comfort, especially when_ _Harry rounded their way and exclaimed, "Talia! You're finally here! I'm so glad that you could make it!" all excitedly with a gleaming smile and side hug, and simply breathed out, "Zayn," quite monotonously with only a nod to accompany his name before he faced everyone else again._

"Yeah, I guess so," Zayn answers Liam after he's pondered on it.

So why does it feel so out of place?

-

"Well, well, well." Louis finds them sometime later, throwing his arms over both their shoulders. "Look who finally decided to show their face."

Zayn glances at him. "Louis. Hey, I'm sorry about your broken phone, man," he raises a hand to pat at his best mate's shoulder comfortingly. "How bad is it?"

In turn, Louis' face scrunches up. "What are you on about? I haven't got a broken phone."

"Oh. I thought for sure that that was why you weren't answering any of my calls or texts," Zayn smiles sarcastically before leaning forward to peer at the person on Louis' left. "You too, Liam."

"Sorry," the latter mumbles in response, hanging his head slightly, and Zayn's glad that at least _he_ has the decency to look sheepish. "Harry told us that we should leave our phones in the car since he's had bad experiences having his on him at things like this."

Zayn can't help but roll his eyes at that bullshit because, "It's _Styles_. Of course he has. I've seen him trip over his own shadow before. It was quite hilarious, actually.”

"Hey," someone reprimands from behind him, "in his defense, it was only _once_ , and he was very tired," Jas gives him a playfully admonishing look before breaking into a smile, "or at least that's what he tells everyone." She shrugs, looking between the three of them. "Hello, boys. Long time no see."

"Jasmine!" Louis excitedly yells, going in for a hug.

"That's not my name, Lewis," she instantly replies, like she always used to but accepts his embrace nonetheless, "but it's nice to see you too."

"Hey, Jas," Liam greets her cheerfully as well. "How have you been?"

"I never know how to answer that question, but I'm going to say that I've been great. Thanks, Liam." She smiles at him. "I hate to bother you guys, but have any of you seen Harry?"

"Yeah, he actually just passed by here a couple minutes ago," Liam is the one who answers.

"Really?" She asks. "I sent him to fetch a couple things from the supply room for me, and he hasn't returned yet. I'm starting to wonder if it was all too much for him to carry on his own." She wrings her fingers together, worrying at her bottom lip. "I should probably go look for him."

"Or maybe you shouldn't," Louis rushes out before she can leave.

She rounds on him, confused. "What? Why not?"

"Well," he starts slowly, "you seem very busy already, what with the new crowd of people coming in and the others getting ready to leave. I'm sure that you have better things to do," his ex roommate deduces. "Zayn'll go look for him."

His head whips in Louis' direction as soon as he hears him. "What?" He's about to protest and say that there's no way in _hell_ that he is, but Jas has already turned to him and is giving him puppy dog eyes.

"Would you?" She pleads, clasping her hands together. "You'd really be helping me out, but it's completely fine if you don't want to," she assures him, and it's that last part that really gets him.

Jas has never made him feel like he's being coerced into doing something, and he really appreciates that, so, "No, I do," he tells her gently. "It's fine. I'll be back," and he tries to convince himself that he's only doing this for her.

-

He trudges to the far end of the beach this time around as he heads to the storage room that Jas had pointed him to.

He sees it in the distance, a tiny, isolated hut that's yellow on the outside with some of the paint chipping off. ' **Storage** ,' is printed across the closed door in white, and Zayn knocks on it hesitantly once he's in front of it.

"Styles?" He calls then waits a beat. "Styles, are you in here?" He thinks that he hears murmuring on the other side of the door, so, he turns the knob, and, with some effort, finally pulls it open and steps in.

His eyes immediately zone in on Harry sitting on the other side of the room with his hands planted on the ground like he'd just been about to stand up.

"Zayn?" He scrambles to his feet with all the grace of a ten month old child. "Thank fuck," he exhales. "I never thought that I'd be so happy to see you. _Whatever_ you do, don't close the–" a slam! at Zayn's back interrupts his sentence when he treads further into the room, and, "– door," Harry finishes, clenching his fists together, his voice sounding constrained. "Don't close the door," he repeats just in case Zayn didn't quite catch that.

Zayn looks to the entrance and frowns, because that's exactly what he just did. Panic doesn't start to truly set in until his furious shaking of the doorknob comes up futile though and unwelcome thoughts subsequently begin to invade his mind.

Harry's voice behind him isn't helping much either.

"I have never wanted to strangle you more, Zayn Malik," he's saying as he glares daggers at him, a neck vein popping out that Zayn's eyes fix on for some reason, "and I've thought about strangling you a lot."

 _That's kinky, Apollo,_ he thinks straight off the bat but doesn't say out loud. Harry would probably actually do it if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on the chapter and on Nobody Is Listening?


	5. You Know About Apollo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Part 1 of 2]

"Zayn?" Harry scrambles to his feet with all the grace of a ten month old child as soon as he walks through the door.

"Thank fuck," he exhales. "I never thought that I'd be so happy to see you. _Whatever_ you do, don't close the–" a slam at Zayn's back interrupts his sentence when he treads further into the storage room that Jas had sent him to to help Harry, and, "– door," Harry finishes, clenching his fists together, his voice sounding constrained. "Don't close the door," he repeats just in case Zayn didn't quite catch that.

He looks to the entrance and frowns, because that's exactly what he just did. Panic doesn't start to truly set in until his furious shaking of the doorknob comes up futile though and unwelcome thoughts subsequently begin to invade his mind.

Harry's voice behind him isn't helping much either.

"I have never wanted to strangle you more, Zayn Malik," he's saying as he glares daggers at him, a neck vein popping out that Zayn's eyes fix on for some reason, "and I've thought about strangling you a lot."

 _That's kinky, Apollo_ , he thinks straight off the bat but doesn't say out loud. Harry would probably actually do it if he did.

"Should I be fearing for my life right now then?" He decides to weakly joke instead, turning to face him whilst raising a hand up to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck.

"Ha, ha. You're hilarious," Harry drones in response, the wide, false smile that's swiped across his face contrasting with his threatening timbre. "This– this is just brilliant," he goes on sardonically. "Really, it is, because now we're locked in here, _together_ , and it's all thanks to you, Zayn. Isn't that wonderful?"

Zayn sort of feels sick to his stomach at just the thought of this whole thing, but not so sick that he can't come to his own defense, so, "Like hell it is," he instantly spits back, causing them to fall right back into their same old routine of bitching at each other. "How is this my fault? How was I supposed to know that the door had a shit lock?" He gestures wildly to it. "Jas didn't tell me that when she sent me to come rescue your ass."

Harry immediately scoffs derisively. "Yeah, well, some rescue this is," he waves his arms around frantically. "Now she needs to send someone to come save the _both of us_ , so great going, Zayn." He slowly claps mockingly. "Did you not hear me when I was trying to tell you about the door, or did you just _want_ to let it slam behind you like an absolute mad person?"

"Yes, Styles, that's _exactly_ what I wanted to do," he scowls darkly at him, though his tone is sickly sweet, "bang the door shut so hard that I'd be stuck in here with _you_. Did it ever occur to you that maybe if you didn't talk so damn slow, I wouldn't have given the door a _chance_ to slam in the first place?"

"Oh, so this is all my doing?" Harry demands disbelievingly.

"All I'm saying is that isn't _mine_ ," Zayn promptly replies simply.

He pinches his arm then to check that he isn't still dreaming. Or, in this case, to check, for the second time today, that he isn't having a horrid nightmare.

Unfortunately, he is not.

Harry tosses his arms up in frustration, turning away from him like he can't even look at him. "God, you are so _infuriating_ , you know that?" He nearly growls, and now it's Zayn's turn to scoff.

"Oh, and I suppose that you think that you're a bed of roses?" He counters rhetorically, stepping closer to him. "Why are you even acting so stroppy right now anyway?" He kind of really wants to know. "Whatever happened to ' _everyone deserves to be treated with kindness, even_ you _, Zayn_?'"

Apollo spins back at that to face him. "Oh, so _that_ you remember?"

"Yes, _that_ I remember," Zayn chaffs, doing a pretty good imitation, if he does say so himself, of his stupid voice. "Don't tell me that you're actually mad at me for not remembering that I promised you something when I was _drunk_ , Styles."

Harry huffs, eyebrows pulling together as he does so. "Please. What are you talking about? I'm not _mad_ at you. To be mad at you would require me to actually _think_ about you, Zayn," he snaps, crossing his arms, "which I _don't_."

Zayn snorts at that, folding his arms as well. "Nice try, but I'm pretty sure that you already used that one on me _five years ago_."

"And you actually remembered?" Harry smirks. He lifts a hand to his chest. "Wow, I am flattered. I am so happy to hear that I had such an impact on your life, Zayn."

"And _I'm_ so happy to hear that you still have the maturity level of a twelve year old, Styles," he retorts, face screwing up in irritation. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You!" He gets a vicious shout back. " _You're_ my fucking problem! I thought that was obvious!"

Zayn wishes that he could say that didn't sting, because it shouldn't, really. Why would it? This is them, and they've had _much_ worse fights than this over the years.

But it does. It does sting, and he can't understand why it doesn't simply erupt the need to hurt Harry back like it usually does and leave it at that.

He sneers to cover his thoughts up. "Yeah, well, if I'm such a fucking problem," he clamours, "then why did you even want me here today?!"

"Maybe because I thought that I could finally get you to stop hating me if you were, Zayn! Okay?!" Harry roars, surprising him, face and neck dangerously red. "Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

Everything abruptly comes skittering to a stop at that moment. It's nauseatingly quiet all of a sudden, but the silence is deafeningly loud. Zayn isn't quite sure what to say now. What does anyone say to something like that, really?

"... What?" He eventually manages to get out though, feeling as if he's now breathing too loud for the atmosphere even.

"N-Nothing," Harry stammers, staring back at him as if he's just been snapped out of a trance. "Nothing. Forget it. I didn't say anything." He looks away from Zayn, visibly swallows, and takes a step back. Zayn hadn't even realized that they'd been standing so close.

"Look, we're not going to get anywhere if we keep arguing like this. Do you– do you have your phone on you? I left mine in the car," Apollo tells him so softly that he almost doesn't hear him.

Zayn doesn't quite know if he wants to move on from what they were just talking about, but he also isn't certain if he wants to speak about it some more, so, "Yeah, I–" he begins to say, tapping at his pockets, "– don't," he ends up finishing lowly. "I don't have it. It's in my trousers."

"The ones that I made you change out of," Harry registers, laughing humorlessly and dejectedly sliding down to the ground. "Right." He peers up at Zayn once he's on the floor again, and, "Well?" he mutters bitterly. "Go on then. I know that you're just dying to say it."

Zayn arches an eyebrow at him, bemused. "Say what?"

"That it really is all my fault that we're stuck in here with possibly no way out."

"Ah," he mumbles, nodding carefully as he lowers himself down onto the floor too, ensuring that he keeps to the other side of the room. Not that that's even so far away. "I wasn't going to say that, Styles," he says quietly, "because unlike you, I really did grow up and mature." Harry goes back to glowering at him for that.

"But look, I'm sure that everything will be fine. Jas, Louis, and Liam all know that we're in here. They'll notice that we're missing eventually, and someone will come looking for us," he guarantees his 'mortal enemy'– and himself– as assuringly as he can muster. "Hopefully sooner rather than later."

Harry glances up at him from where he was fiddling with the rings on his hands. "That's– that's actually very level-headed of you to say," he states, eyes scrutinizing him.

Zayn snorts. "Am I supposed to say thanks?" He asks drily.

And, " _No_ ," Harry grumbles, sounding like he forces it out. "I guess that I was just expecting you to, like, be trying to break the door down since you're stuck in here with _me_ off all people."

"If I was built more like Liam, I probably would be," Zayn rags without delay, though he really doesn't feel up to quarreling anymore, "but since I'm not, I think that I'm just going to sit here quietly and wait. You should do the same, mate."

There's a pause, and for a second, it feels like Harry might do just that... until Zayn hears him blow a breath out.

"You know, you could have said that without making it sound like you're speaking to a child," he's muttering from his corner, pulling his legs to chest, his position completely going against his own argument since it seems like he's purposely trying to make himself smaller. Maybe he is. "It makes me feel like we're back working at the bakery all over again."

Zayn rolls his eyes at his words. "Oh, come off it." He shakes his head. "You'd feel that way no matter how I phrased that, Styles," he points out knowingly. "Besides, 's not my fault that you do a pretty ace job of acting like one, is it?"

Another scoff. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're a spoiled brat who gets moody when they don't get their way and acts out?" He comments frankly. "I thought that was obvious," he repeats Harry's only slightly hurtful (he convinces himself) words from earlier. "You're doing it right now."

The golden boy in front of him looks thoroughly offended, but what else is new? "I do not do that, and I am not acting out."

"Sure you aren't, Styles," Zayn leans his head back against the stack of ring buoys that's behind him, his eyes fluttering closed, "and _I'm_ an excellent swimmer, since we're taking turns telling lies."

He hears him huff with indignation for the umpteenth time, as well as a, "Do you reckon that you're funny, Zayn?" as he imagines Apollo shaking his head of curls at him. "That any of this is?"

He sighs, and, "You know what? Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually," he answers honestly, flitting his eyes back open and sitting up properly. "I mean, think about it. What are the odds that the two of _us_ , who have _never_ gotten along, would get trapped somewhere _alone_ , _together_ with no way to get out?" He questions. "Especially after all this time? It's ridiculous, but it's also fucking gold, and if I weren't so pissed at the situation, I'd probably be laughing my arse off, Styles."

"You're sadistic." Harry scrunches his face up at him, actually managing to look a bit adorable when he does. "Either way, I refuse to just sit here and do nothing. We need to find a way out," he declares definitively, hopping to his feet once more and staring up. "I'm pretty sure that there's a small window up there. Maybe we can use it to call for help."

"Alright," Zayn returns slowly, squinting up at him. "And how exactly do you plan on getting up there?"

He's given an unimpressed look. "I'm going to climb up, Zayn. Obviously."

"You're going to fall and end up in the hospital, Harry... _obviously_ ," he copies him, and Apollo halts then, desists from moving some cleaning items off the almost ceiling-high shelf in front of him.

He ploddingly turns. "What did you just say?"

"You're going to fall and end up in the hospital?" Zayn utters it more like a question.

"You called me Harry."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Is that not your name?" God, this kid was weird sometimes.

"Yeah, but you never call me that," Harry tells him, brow furrowing. "... Unless you're adding 'Fucking Styles' to the end of it," he adds thoughtfully before appearing to shake his thoughts away. "Anyway, other than that, it's always _just_ 'Styles' or ' _Apollo_ ,'" he says, pursing his lips, and it is then that Zayn feels himself blanch and his throat go dry.

"You– you know about Apollo?" That’s not embarrassing.

Harry smiles slightly. "Am I not supposed to? You've only been calling me it since the year that we started working together... which was six years ago, by the way."

Zayn pauses, thinks about that. "Has it– has it really already been six years?" He asks, running a hand through his hair. "Wow. It feels like only yesterday you were pissing me off with your tendency to spam the work group chat every morning."

Harry begins to nod. "Yeah, I– _hey_ ," he cuts himself off, whining and pouting jokingly, "those messages were always very profound and totally inspirational."

Zayn laughs, if only just a bit. "If you say so, mate," and Harry flashes him a shining smile before returning to what he was doing: pulling things from the shelf that he's supposedly going to mount.

"So, why do you anyway?" He quizzes after a minute or two.

Zayn zones back into the conversation. "Huh? Why do I what?"

"Why do you call me Apollo?" Harry clarifies, and Zayn can see from his side profile that a wicked grin is starting to form. "Is it because of my amazing music and dance skills?"

"Hardly," he snorts. "I got the idea from Talia. She always said that there wasn't any way that you _weren't_ a Greek god with the way that you look, and Apollo was the first one that I could think of."

Well, that and the fact that Zayn always believed that, much like Apollo, Harry was as bright and powerful as the sun itself. It has also been argued that he is the most loved of all the Greek gods, so it just seemed fitting.

"I guess that I could be called worse," Harry allows, tilting his head to the side. "Talia said that?"

"Only every other minute or so," Zayn drawls.

"Ah," he nods, seemingly casually inspecting a first-aid kit. "I did not know that."

"Don't act like you aren't grateful for the ego stroke," Zayn teases, making him shake his head and release a soft laugh.

"Please. I'm sure that you're only saying that because you get comments like that all the time."

"That I look like a Greek god?" He has to make sure as he fights a smile.

"Definitely," Harry murmurs, still not looking back at him. "Have you ever seen your jawline and cheekbones?" He queries, almost sounding awestruck. "And don't even get me started on those eyelashes. Literally otherworldly."

Zayn feels some unwanted colour dust across his cheeks and along his ears at that point. He gulps, and, "Well," he starts quietly, "you have dimples and amazing hair, so there." He's thought so since the moment that he first laid eyes on Harry. Not that he'd ever add that part in.

Apollo glances at him _finally_ , beaming, gorgeous dimples and all. "I do have amazing hair, don't I?"

Zayn makes a face at him, though it all feels horribly playful all the sudden. "You know what? I take that back," he announces, and Harry clutches at his heart theatrically.

"Oh, how will I ever survive now?"

"Idiot," he mumbles lightheartedly, mostly to himself.

And this time, he doesn't wrestle it, doesn't wrestle his smile. He doesn't think that he could even if he wanted to.

Or, well, so he believes until a minute later when a nagging thought creeps into his mind as he silently watches on as Harry busies himself trying to right his footing on the shelf that he's finally cleared.

"I don't, by the way," he reveals, wanting to extinguish the feeling of it roughly rattling inside of him.

Harry wavers then, foot planted on a smooth slab of wood, hands both grasping an identical one that's a few inches in the air away from it. He peers at him with a frown. "You don't have amazing hair?"

Zayn bites at the inside of his lip. "... I don't hate you, Harry," he expounds, softly but firmly, so that the other lad is aware that he's now being serious. "Back then just now, you said something about me hating you," he continues, staring downward and swaying his head a bit. "I– I don't."

"You don't?" Harry puts forward uncertainly.

"No. I don't."

"Really?"

"Really," he assures, nodding once.

There's a lull once again, present in the tiny, little storage room that two boys, now men, who have never been much fond of each other, are entrapped.

By now, they've both divulged things that they never thought they'd ever admit out loud, especially to the one in front of them. By now, they've both divulged things that they aren't even sure they've ever been brave enough to admit to themselves, and they both can't help feeling like there's more.

Harry pulls away from the shelf, standing firmly on the ground and facing him completely. "Then why do you act like you do?"

And Zayn stands then, because he doesn't quite appreciate having to look up at Harry anymore than he has to, and he doesn't particularly want to do so right now. Not for this. "It's not acting, really," he says. "I don't hate you, but it's not exactly easy to be around you sometimes."

"Why do you say that?"

He shrugs, because he doesn't have an answer for that one... Or, he does, but there are some things that he wants to keep to himself, at least for right now.

Harry nods, doesn't push. Instead, he ducks his head and tugs on the end of a curl. "I'm sorry that I blew up at you," he whispers, and Zayn's eyebrows shoot up in response. He can't remember if Harry's ever said that to him unironically either.

"It's– 's cool," he tells him, but Apollo is already shaking his head.

"No. No, it's not cool," he insists. "It's just that I was already feeling like an idiot for getting myself stuck in here, you know? Then you showed up to help me, and I still wasn't able to stop _you_ from closing the door in time, so that made me feel like even _more_ of a fool," he explains, harshly yanking on his bottom lip, "but that's no excuse. I mean, you're right, Zayn. You deserve to be treated with kindness just as much as everyone else does."

"You think?"

He nods his reply. "Of course I do."

Zayn feels a small smile involuntarily twitch at the corners of his mouth at that. "Thanks."

Harry shrugs it off as if it isn't a big deal, but it means more to Zayn that he believes that than he'd ever care to admit.

"I'm also sorry that I've been acting like a dickhead to you since you got here," he carries on. "That wasn't fair to you either," and Zayn is surprised by the fact that he'd acknowledge that just as much.

"So you admit it," he notes, a tad astonished.

Harry nods again, cracking a small smile at him as well. "Reluctantly," he kids, gazing over at Zayn, green eyes lucent and hypnotic.

Zayn gulps as he stares into them and realizes that they've drawn closer once more, and, for the first time since he arrived at the beach, thinks that maybe his day isn't going so bad after all, thinks that maybe _being stuck with Apollo_ isn't so bad after all.


End file.
